Living With Autobots
by Dinogrrl
Summary: Mix an eclectic group of soldiers and a cranky engineer, and what do you get? One dangerous Autobot army, that's what!...when it's not full of epic drama, that is.
1. Get Out of My Lab!

Just a quick AN, I seem to use some strange made-up definitions of Cybertonian time units, which I've grown accustomed too and am too stubborn/lazy to change :). These are the definitions I'm using:

A breem is the equivalent of a minute.

Cycle—day

Joor—week

Orn—month

Vorn—year

I'm sorry for any confusion and inconveniences this may cause.

* * *

Either the Autobots just had the worst timing _ever_, or fate saw it fit to keep inexplicably crossing their paths with those of the Decepticons, no matter how hard they tried to avoid one another.

Etraum was a small, out-of-the-way sector of Cybertron, designated as Neutral, known mostly for containing research laboritories, some of the most famous on all of Cybertron. The research that was conducted there had little or nothing to do with the current war. Nothing that either side could want.

Or so that's what they said.

Ratchet had other thoughts on the matter. The current situation was just wrong. He and his small 'safety net' of a team had arrived quietly on the outskirts of the sector to make a supply run. Ratchet knew one of the scientists in Etraum, someone who was willing to arrange supply drops to replace any equipment or medical items Ratchet needed. Only...when they had arrived, the place had been under attack by Decepticon forces. The attack was brutal enough that Ratchet's team could not penetrate the sector's outer limits for fear of being discovered by the Decepticons that stalked the streets and tore through the skies.

_'This is a Neutral zone. Why attack it? To antagonize us? Or simply out of boredom? They certainly aren't helping to convince any Neutrals of their purpose, whatever the case.'_

Ratchet had immediately called for backup, even though the city was as good as lost by that time. He still needed to get to the supply stop, and enough Decepticons were hanging around, prowling the sector, that his small team would stand no chance on their own.

Help had arrived quickly enough, and the enemy was scattered from the outer fringes of Etraum. Ratchet had taken his fellow mechs and slipped through the weakened Decepticon forces. He knew the way well enough, even though the streets were broken from Seeker missiles and buildings had collapsed here and there. The way was littered with the bodies of the fallen, mostly Neutrals who had no way to defend themselves, and it tore up the medic that he could do nothing for them.

His spark had given a painful jerk when he saw that his destination was halfway blasted to the Pits. But he had continued toward it, hoping that someone within was still alive, that he could still get the equipment he so desperately needed.

Someone _had_ been alive. He had been shooting the slag out of some unfortunate Seekers when Ratchet and his team had arrived. The mech had launched a particularly powerful explosive of some sort at them, and the resulting detonation left one Seeker legless, the others wounded, and Ratchet sprawled on his back on the cracked metal walkway.

After the Seekers had taken off, carrying their amputated wingmate to safety, the Autobots had tried to approach the mysterious mech, only to find his guns now aimed at them.

They had been pinned behind the pile of rubble for some time now. Any attempts to reason with the mech had failed, usually ending with them being shot at yet again. Calling for help from the other Autobots was dangerous at best, with the Decepticons still permeating the sector; their signals would be detected, and they themselves located in short order. Unable to move from their spot, they could only sit and wait for the time being.

Ratchet shifted slightly, resting his back against a piece of metal, bracing himself with his broad feet.

"Just one mech. _One_ mech!" Bluestreak said from his left. "That guy can _shoot_. Like Ironhide. 'Cept Ironhide would be doing a lot more shouting and probably would have already killed us."

"I say we just frag 'em," Sunstreaker growled from beyond the younger mech.

"No!" Ratchet hissed. "He's a Neutral. We will not harm him." The stranger's party allegiance had been determined early on, based on the fact that he shot at Decepticons and Autobots alike, with the same intention: to injure or kill. Restraining the Twins from taking out the Neutral in an act of self-defense had been very, _very_ difficult.

"A Neutral, huh?" Sunstreaker leveled one of his famous glares at the medic. "What kind of Neutral runs around armed like _that_?" He waved one golden arm in the general direction of behind the rubble pile. The unknown mech was at the other end of the room--what had once been a room, anyway, two of the walls had been blown out at some point--hiding behind a similar pile of fallen, twisted scrap.

"The kind who has something to protect," came Mirage's smooth voice, from his hiding place behind a smaller pile of rubble to Ratchet's right.

Ignoring the bickering match that was sure to start momentarily between the gold and blue mechs, Ratchet twisted himself around to call over his hiding spot. "Just put down your guns already! I'm here to see Greenstar!"

"I'm sure you are," came the mech's surly reply. "...Slagging Autobots," he added, though not so softly that he couldn't be heard.

"He's not going to budge," Sideswipe commented.

"Hmm." Ratchet sat back down. He needed those supplies. But this mech, whoever he was, would gun him down in no time if he simply tried to walk up to the door that led to the section of the building that was still standing--the section where Greenstar's supply drop was contained. The Neutral would probably be able to cut down the rest of the team if _they_ tried as well, even if they all ran at once. Coming up with ideas that didn't involve harming the unknown mech was difficult.

The stalemate dragged on.

"Do you have a plan?" Mirage asked after a while.

"We need to subdue him..." Ratchet said, thinking out loud. Then he glanced up at Mirage.

The war was still fairly young, and Mirage hadn't been with the Autobots all that long. Ratchet had heard of the mech's abilities, but had not had a chance to witness them for himself. He could only hope the rumors were true. "Do you think you can use your cloaking to get to him and keep him down long enough that I can calm him?" By 'calm him,' Ratchet meant 'load the guy up with sedatives until he stops shooting.' He hated having to do that to anyone, he really did, but seeing as no one in his team was equipped with null rays, it was the only thing he could think of that might work.

Mirage appeared thoughtful. "Perhaps. But not if he's still directing all his attention over here. He could hit me with a stray shot. I can make myself invisible, but not immaterial."

Ratchet turned to the Twins. "All right, here's the plan. You two, get around the side, keep his attention split between yourselves and Bluestreak and I. Mirage will come up the other side of the room and get the Neutral down; you will assist him in keeping the mech restrained, if he needs your help." He added a glare. "But don't harm him."

The feral look that was so common on Sunstreaker's face had returned. His brother merely nodded silently.

"Bluestreak and I will attempt to keep him talking. That should distract him even more."

"Talking's what the brat does best, right?" Sunstreaker said in a low voice.

Bluestreak gave a nervous smile.

Ratchet motioned for them to get moving. "Stay low, stay quiet. Don't move unless you're sure you can make it before he shoots. I don't fancy having to put you two Pit-born terrors back together _again_."

The Twins slipped out from behind the cover, making a mad dash for the next nearest rubble pile. Sideswipe very nearly got his aft fried by the Neutral's bullets.

Mirage, meanwhile, had activated his cloaking system, fading from view until he was a mere ghost of himself, shimmering faintly with a broad spectrum of colors. Then that too was gone, leaving nothing.

Ratchet turned to the young gunner beside him. "Time to put that motormouth of yours to good use."

Bluestreak nodded numbly, for once momentarily at a loss for words.

The medic slapped his palm against his forehead in frustration. _'Leave it to the rookie...'_

But Bluestreak recovered soon enough. He shifted so he could talk over the top of the shelter without exposing himself. "That was an impressive show you put on with the Seekers."

A moment of silence. "You'll get to see it first-hand if you don't get the hell out of my damn lab."

Ignoring his own terrified shaking, Bluestreak pressed on. "What was it, some sort of thermal grenade?"

"Solar grenade," was the immediate correction.

Bluestreak blinked in surprise, a look that Ratchet mirrored. _'That's a slagging powerful weapon for a Neutral to be carrying.'_

"Where'd you get something like that?" Bluestreak was definitely impressed now, if he hadn't been before.

"Made it."

The halfway-destroyed room suddenly rang with the sound of the mech's gun firing. Ratchet could hear Sideswipe swearing over their internal comm frequencies. -Watch yourself!- the medic admonished.

-He knows exactly where we are! Almost took off Sunny's head!- A pause. -Can't really go much further until Mirage takes him down.-

-He's good,- Mirage cut in, a hint of respect apparent in his even-toned voice.

-He's just got big guns with a big kick. And really lucky aim,- Sunstreaker stated sourly.

-Mirage, what's your position?- Ratchet strained to hear Mirage's movements, but all that reached his audios was the soft sound of suddenly-superheated metal hissing as it froze once more.

-I need about half a breem more to reach him.-

Ratchet waited. Bluestreak had retreated to his earlier position, safely and completely hidden behind a large piece of crushed metal. He closed his optics, as if willing his trembling to stop.

The medic knew Mirage had pounced when there was a shout of surprise from the far side of the room, and the mech's gun went off again, bullets striking one wall, arching across the ceiling, and going off into the other wall. The two mechs collided noisily, rolling into something as they each fought to subdue the other.

-Sunstreaker! Sideswipe! Get over here!- Mirage shouted.

Ratchet heard the Twins suddenly take off from their hiding spot, joining the fray. Soon enough, the sounds of the struggle were quieting.

-Is he down?- Ratchet queried.

-...For now.-

That was all Ratchet needed. Swinging around to the side of his temporary shelter, he broke into a sprint...or what was a sprint for him. Bluestreak easily outpaced him.

-Watch out for his guns, they're still hot.-

It took a few moments for Ratchet to reach the far side of the room, where his team had pinned the mysterious mech, and then to figure out how to get closer without crossing the mech's line of fire. The sight that met him would have been amusing, if said mech had not been trying to kill them just now.

The Neutral was easily as big as the hefty Twins, which was a large part of the reason it had taken _three_ mechs to keep him down on the floor. Mirage had his legs pinned and, as he was slightly smaller than the Neutral, was having a hard time preventing the mech from simply kicking him off. Sideswipe was holding onto the mech's right arm for dear life, trying to keep the cannon mounted on his lower arm from being pointed at the Autobot team. Sunstreaker had his legs tucked beneath him and was simply sitting on the mech's torso, holding his left arm down with no small amount of force, and looking quite pleased with himself about it.

The Neutral was enraged, optics narrowed in a death glare that could put even Sunstreaker's angriest expressions to shame. He struggled against his captors, the vocal resonators on either side of his head flashing pink as he let out an amazing stream of curses.

"He cusses almost as good as Sunstreaker," Bluestreak muttered as he watched the spectacle from a safe distance away.

"Nobody cusses as good as me."

Ratchet crouched near the Neutral. "I didn't want to do this. But I do need to see Greenstar, and you're not helping any."

"Greenstar got killed, you Pit-slagger."

The medic simply observed the stranger for a while, silently running a few scans. The mech had obviously been carrying out his fight against the invading Decepticons for a quite while. He was exhausted, systems taxed from a long, stressful battle, and he bore more than a few injuries.

His scanning did not go unnoticed. "Get the frag away from me!" This brought on a new round of him struggling against the trio of Autobots who had trouble holding on to him.

"You're injured."

"Of course I am, slagger!"

"Shut up," Sunstreaker snarled.

"Take it easy," Ratchet warned the gold mech. Returning to his conversation with the Neutral, such as it was, he said, "I'll repair what I can, if you'll calm down and stop shooting at us. Otherwise I'll have to take your weapons offline, and you probably won't like that so much."

This was met with an incomprehensible series of cursing, the resonators glowing an even darker shade of pink.

Ratchet gave an off-handed shrug. "Sorry free repairs bothers you so much."

"Go interface with a glitch-whore!"

"I just need some--"

"How about I go get what you need, and then shove it up your--"

Sunstreaker backhanded the mech across his face so hard he offlined. "_Nobody_ talks to Ratchet that way except for me, you pathetic spawn of Unicron."

"SUNSTREAKER!" Ratchet lurched to his full height. "I _told_ you not to harm him!"

The golden mech simply looked lazily up at the CMO. "Well he's been subdued, hasn't he? Mission accomplished."

* * *

The door from the room to the relatively unharmed part of the building was coded and locked beyond anyone's capabilities to hack. Ratchet and Mirage had been trying for several breems, with no luck. They needed the mech Sunstreaker had so elegantly offlined.

Ratchet had, of course, repaired the Neutral to the best of his abilities, but the mech was still unconscious, stretched out on the floor where he had been left. Ratchet himself was trying to catch a few moments of recharge while he waited for the stranger to wake up.

That came sooner than expected.

The Neutral woke up after another breem, and immediately started firing on the nearest mech, who was, unfortunately, poor Bluestreak. The young soldier yelped, diving behind an overturned desk. The Twins were up and battle-ready in moments; Mirage too drew his weapon. Ratchet woke quickly, ready to run to the action, only to realize that the mech had stopped shooting.

He was sitting on the floor, blade-like 'wings' stiffly jutting out above his shoulders in an impressive display of anger. He swung his gun-bearing left arm from Mirage to the Twins to Ratchet, and back again. He no longer had the advantage against the Autobots, but he stubbornly refused to give in.

"You can put the guns away," Ratchet said softly, as soothingly as he could. "We're not here to harm you."

As if to confirm for himself the medic's statement, the Neutral raised his free hand to his chassis, where earlier he had sported a nasty gash in his armor. His fingers felt along it, tracing newly-welded repair work. After considering this, he tilted his head towards the Autobots who leveled their own weapons at him. "Tell them to back off." His resonators were flashing a more subdued blue now.

Ratchet glanced at his team, lifting his hand to indicate they should do so. Mirage obliged gladly, shouldering his gun and walking away to sit on a smoldering scrap heap. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe looked disappointed that there would be no more excitement for now, but eventually they too stepped away.

Only then did Ratchet hear the Neutral's gun power down and fold back into his arm. His wing-blades relaxed slightly, and his battle mask pulled back to reveal a scowl. _'Battle mask, huh? You've obviously been preparing for_ something Ratchet dared to step take a closer. "You said Greenstar was killed."

The mech's blue optics glared back.

"I need to get to his office. He had supplies for me."

"No."

Ratchet frowned. "And why not?"

The mech stood, leaning his sturdily-built white and green body uncomfortably close to Ratchet's. "Because you're an Autobot."

"You have a problem with that?"

"If I help you, I'll have as good as chosen a side in this idiotic war."

Ratchet snorted. "And yet, as a Neutral, you carry weapons that would put most of ours to shame. Why is that?"

"Perhaps I just like to test my inventions on myself." He gave a sadistic sort of smile.

"You expect me to believe that?" _'A Neutral who makes weapons? And then is stupid enough to 'test' them by sticking them on himself? What kind of idiot does he take me for?'_

The mech stepped back, shrugging. "Believe what you want. _I_ want no part of this war."

"The war's already decided that for you. Do you not see what's happened to Etraum?" Ratchet gestured at the missing walls of the room, at the broken city beyond. "There is nothing left!"

The Neutral's expression was unreadable as he scanned the landscape.

Ratchet shook his head, dropping his arm. "I just need to get to Greenstar's office, grab the supplies, and get out. That's it."

The mech did not move for a very long time indeed. Then, without uttering a word, he spun around on his feet and marched to the door, pointedly punching in a code on the lock pad. "Only because you took the time to repair me," he said in a low voice. The door hissed open. "Get your things and leave."

Bluestreak bounded up, arms in the air. "Woo-hoo! Supply time! And then back to Optimus!" Sideswipe made an exasperated sound at Bluestreak's exuberance, but followed the bouncy youth through the door.

Ratchet was the last to pass through. As he did, he grabbed the Neutral's arm. "You said you made that solar grenade."

"With a little trial and error."

The medic really didn't want to think about what that implied. "We could use someone with your skills."

The mech snorted and shook his head, looking away.

Ratchet released him. "Well, if you ever change your mind, you know where to find a welcoming party."

* * *

Optimus had watched the shuttle come in to the base as soon as it had appeared on Red Alert's scans. He had even waited out in the launching bay for it to set down. Now, he affected a concerned, stern expression as the loading ramp lowered. "You're late."

Bluestreak, who had been skipping his way down the ramp, froze when he heard those words, looking for all the world like a youngling caught in the act of doing something naughty. Not expecting the sudden stop, Sideswipe walked right into him, and Sunstreaker collided into his brother. The three tumbled down the ramp in a jumble of flailing limbs and angry shouts.

"What the slag, Bluestreak?" Sunstreaker was disentangling himself from the others. "Look! You made my armor get all dented!"

"You did that yourself, Sunny!" Sideswipe countered.

"Shut up!" Sunstreaker brushed aside his red brother as he made a lunge for Bluestreak.

The gunner squeaked with fright, taking off across the landing bay at speeds Optimus had not thought he could possibly reach. Sunstreaker was right behind him, swiping at the slightly-built Bluestreak as he made his mad dash for freedom. Sideswipe followed them, no doubt tagging along just for the impending troublemaking.

Optimus only shook his head, amused at their antics. _'Let them have their youngling-play while they can.'_

Mirage let out a long-suffering sigh as he exited the shuttle, his arms full of supply boxes. "They couldn't even stay to help, could they?"

"Maybe it's a good thing," Ratchet said from within the transport, "seeing as they're off giving each other a beating now."

"True enough."

When Optimus saw Ratchet emerge from the shuttle, a container of some sort held safely against his body, he crossed his arms over his chest. "You should have been back a long time ago."

"Worried about me?" Ratchet smirked.

"Of course."

"We were...held up."

"By what, may I ask?"

Ratchet simply continued walking down the ramp. Optimus was about to repeat his question when he heard someone else start down the ramp. He looked up to find a mech he did not recognize. White armor with sleek green striping, projections resembling fins coming from his head, silvery wing-like spines on his shoulders--overall, a strange build. The mech carried a box of equipment, balancing it against his hip, an almost cocky stance. When he noticed Optimus, he eyed the Prime warily with tired optics.

"Optimus, meet Etraum's Chief Mechanical Engineer. Wheeljack."


	2. A Day With Sunstreaker

He remembered Sunstreaker's speed and strength from when the yellow mech had wrestled him to the ground in Etraum. But Wheeljack wasn't prepared this time, and soon found himself lying on his back, staring up at the gray ceiling.

Why he had ever let himself be talked into a sparring match with Sunstreaker in one of the training rooms was beyond him. The fact that he was good at defending himself didn't mean he liked exercising that ability in his spare time. He would much rather be tinkering with random bits of machinery. Then again, he _was_ feeling rather stressed lately. Perhaps it would be good to let it out before something bad happened.

Sunstreaker was having the same thoughts, judging by the dark look in his optics.

Having his fill of lying on the floor, Wheeljack jumped to his feet, this time using his arms to block himself from Sunstreaker's advance. The punches landed on the reinforced armor of his forearms and were deflected harmlessly away from his head. As Sunstreaker recovered from his last assault, Wheeljack lashed out, a loud clang resounding through the training room as he struck the yellow mech on one of the curved sensor arrays that ran up the side of his head.

_'Bad move,'_ he realized a moment too late.

"_Now_ you're done for," Sideswipe muttered from where he watched at the side of the room, echoing Wheeljack's thoughts.

"You little slagger," Sunstreaker growled, rubbing gingerly at the fin-like structure, as if it was the most precious thing in the world to him. "I shouldn't have let Ratchet talk me into sparing you back in Etraum."

"Too late now." Wheeljack smirked.

"No, not really."

They collided with a jarring force, locked in a grappling match. Sunstreaker had caught Wheeljack's left wrist in his hand; with his other hand he gripped the inventor's right wing-blade, pushing back on it. Wheeljack had his free hand clamped tightly around the base of Sunstreaker's neck, nothing life-threatening but certainly enough to get his point across. They struggled for a while, each pushing against the other, neither gaining any ground. Sunstreaker broke the stalemate by raising one foot and sweeping it into the back of Wheeljack's leg, pulling him off-balance. They fell in a heap, Sunstreaker pinning the engineer in a manner of moments.

The yellow mech grinned ferally. "How rude of me. I should have informed you beforehand that Sides and I were gladiators in Kaon before we joined up with this sorry crew." He turned his head slightly, showing the glyph etched into his cheekpiece that declared his status as a member of that underground fighting ring.

"That's nice." Wheeljack tried to wriggle his left leg free, but Sunstreaker's clawed toes dug painfully into his shin, stopping him.

"You aren't going to win here."

"Bring it."

He saw a golden hand flash toward him. He only had a moment to raise his mask and slide his blast cover down over his optics to protect himself, and then he was struck across the face with far more force than was necessary for a simple sparring match.

_'Fragging Pit-spawn.'_ Ignoring the ache where he had been hit, he activated the laser welder in his right wrist and retaliated with his own blow.

Sunstreaker jerked back as the welder easily sliced through his chassis, leaving a long, deep line of melted metal across his chest that oozed coolant. Wheeljack used the distraction to get up, stumbling as his injured leg unexpectedly locked up.

The yellow mech touched his chest in surprise, smearing the coolant over his armor.

"I thought you would have known better than to mess with me," Wheeljack taunted.

Sunstreaker glared up at him, face twisted in a hideous snarl. "How _dare_ you."

"For a former gladiator, you sure do fight like a femme."

That had the exact effect on Sunstreaker that he had intended. The sturdily-built Autobot was quickly on his feet, assuming a battle stance, his optics burning nearly white in rage.

Sideswipe was at his brother's side in an instant, trying to restrain him. "Enough, Sunny! Stop!"

The yellow mech threw his twin aside as he tackled Wheeljack again.

As much as he was enjoying messing with Sunstreaker, he had to admit that this match probably wouldn't end well for him. He was not built or trained for hand-to-hand combat; Sunstreaker was. Despite the fact that Sunstreaker was very obviously attacking to cause serious injury, for some reason the thought of using his more deadly weapons to defend himself didn't seem as agreeable an option as it had back in Etraum. And no matter how effective it was, Wheeljack was reluctant to use his laser welder again. It was not a weapon, and it wouldn't hold up to repeated usage as such.

He rather liked that welder, and didn't relish the thought of breaking it while fending off the feral Sunstreaker.

There was a sudden slicing, burning sensation along the back of his left knee. Without warning, he collapsed, his leg no longer able to support his weight. Wheeljack hissed from the pain, glancing up at the mech who towered over him. Sunstreaker bore a few more injuries than just the line across his chest now; that made the engineer smirk. Then he saw the small blade that jutted out of Sunstreaker's right wrist, where his hand had once been. It was coated with lubricant.

Wheeljack felt along the wound in his knee, feeling warm lubricant welling up against his hand. "That was a dirty trick," the engineer muttered.

"Says he who pulled a welder out of his aft."

They glared at each other for a moment.

At the same instant, they activated their arm-mounted cannons, holding each other at gunpoint.

"You first," Wheeljack said with a sneer.

"Gladly."

* * *

So threatening an Autobot with his guns wasn't such a good idea. Threatening an Autobot with his guns when Ironhide was around was an even worse idea.

Wheeljack gently rubbed at the side of his face where the black mech had smacked him into submission. It had only taken the one blow from Ironhide to make _him_ stop fighting. Sunstreaker, on the other hand...

He frowned as his fingers traced over dented facial plates. The worse damage was actually underneath. He could feel energon dripping down the inside of the plating. It was a _very_ uncomfortable sensation.

Even more uncomfortable was having to sit in Ratchet's medbay as the tyrant medic worked on Sunstreaker. Wheeljack had to smile when he heard the fuss the CMO was making over the melting and fusing and general mess that had occurred along the weld line in Sunstreaker's chest. But that smile quickly faded when he remembered that Prowl, Optimus Prime's second-in-command, was standing right in front of him, arms crossed over his chassis, scowling down at the engineer.

"Think this is funny?" the lieutenant said in a low voice.

"It was worth it."

Prowl's scowl grew fiercer. "You are new here, and for that reason alone I will spare you disciplinary measures. But if I _ever_ hear of you brawling with your fellow Autobots again, you will find yourself becoming quite familiar with the interior of a detainment cell. Do I make myself clear?"

Wheeljack gave him a sidelong look. "I'll brawl if I fragging well feel like it."

Prowl was positively steaming. Wheeljack could actually hear superheated air escape from the lieutenant's vents with a quiet hiss. "You are an Autobot now," he said pointedly. "It was _your_ choice to join us. You are expected to behave accordingly." He repeated his previous question in a slow, deliberate fashion. "Do I make myself clear, Wheeljack?"

"Absolutely. _Sir._"

The lieutenant did not miss Wheeljack's insubordinate tone, but did not push the matter, either. He turned to the Twins instead. "Sunstreaker, you are to report directly to Ironhide when you are released from the medbay."

"Naturally," Sunstreaker said icily.

Prowl looked as if he was about to say something else, but decided better of it, turning on his heels and leaving the medbay in a huff.

"Primus..." Sideswipe groaned, rubbing an optic ridge. "We don't need another Sunstreaker here."

The golden mech made a swipe for his brother, but he was forcefully pushed back by Ratchet. "There will be _no_ fighting in my medbay, or I will weld the lot of you to the walls!"

_'That would be interesting.'_ Wheeljack looked down at his right hand, where his abused welder lay hidden. _'I'd like to see him try.'_

"There." With a final growl, Ratchet stood. "Get out of here," he snapped to the Twins. "If I see you two in here again within the next orn for some reason _not_ relating to a Decepticon attack, I will reroute the coolant tubules in your optics." The furious expression he wore indicated he fully intended to carry out his threat, should such a situation arise.

"But I didn't do anything!" Sideswipe protested. "I tried to stop them, but..."

"Get out!"

Wheeljack watched in fascination as a wrench arched gracefully through the air, striking Sideswipe's head with deadly precision, bouncing off the twin's black helm and sliding to a stop under one of the tables. The red mech stumbled, more from shock than injury, then scurried out of the medbay. Sunstreaker took his time in leaving, giving the inventor a none-too-subtle glare as he passed by.

_'Shove it up your exhaust vents, gold boy.'_

He found the CMO's attention was suddenly directed at him alone. "As for you..."

He shrugged. "Hey, you're the one who wanted me here."

Ratchet leaned over him and poked at his wounded leg.

Wheeljack stiffened, jerking away from the medic. "Ow! Frag, stoppit!"

"Hmph," the medic grunted with disdain before idly taking Wheeljack's pain sensors offline. "Don't get smart with Sunstreaker," Ratchet warned. "He's got a temper and the means to take it out on anyone who stands in his way."

"I sort of figured that out on my own."

"Then don't do it again."

"I can take care of myself."

"Apparently not." Ratchet jabbed a finger into the gash on Wheeljack's leg, as if to make a point. Though he couldn't feel the medic's prodding, Wheeljack still flinched.

"He got lucky."

"Uh-huh."

"He won't be so lucky next time."

The medic snorted. "If you two are going to insist on beating the slag out of one another, I am _not_ going to repair you the next time you walk into my medbay."

"Fine. Just tell me what to do and I'll fix myself."

Ratchet shook his head as he worked on Wheeljack's knee. "Do you have a death wish?"

"Maybe."

"...You have got to be the most idiotic engineer I have ever met."

"You haven't met very many of us, it seems."

"How the slag did _you_ end up in charge in Etraum?"

"Apparently I'm not as idiotic as the rest of the engineers there."

The medic paused in his work, glancing up at him. After a moment, he chuckled. "Just do me one favor, Wheeljack."

"What's that?"

"Do not, under any circumstances, try to make another solar grenade while your work space is right next to my medbay."


	3. Bluestreak, Tour Guide

Bluestreak hummed to himself as he walked briskly through the halls of Autobot headquarters. It wasn't a very melodic tune he had chosen--Cybertronian music was not known for its distinctive melodies--but it was a jaunty theme nonetheless. At one time, back when he was a youngling, he had known the words that accompanied it. But time and war had disrupted certain parts of his mind, and every so often he would come across a small gap in his memory, little things that he knew he should know but just didn't. Things like the words to a song, or how many windows his room back home had, or what he had been doing just prior to the Decepticon attack that had persuaded him to join the Autobots, or what exactly it was that Windcharger had asked him to do earlier in his shift that he obviously hadn't done because he couldn't remember what it was to begin with.

He stepped around the minibot Brawn, who seemed to be making a point of walking right down the middle of the corridor. Not only was it unbelievably rude for a mech to accidentally step on someone smaller than himself, but considering this was Brawn, Bluestreak would probably end up in more pain than the stepped-on minibot. Not that Brawn was violent the way Sunstreaker was, oh no. He just wasn't above giving someone a good smack if he felt that would get his point across.

"Where you off too, Blue?" Brawn asked as the larger mech brushed past him.

"Rec room," the gunner replied cheerfully. "Just got back from patrol. Got the solar panels replaced on those stations that Red wanted me to, so maybe he'll calm down now. For a while anyway. You know him. Anyway, gonna go get myself some mid-grade before I get to work on other stuff."

"Rec room, huh? Watch yourself in there."

Bluestreak paused in his trek. "Huh? Why? What's going on?"

"Don't bother Mister Cranky."

"Who?" He twisted to look back at the minibot. "Huffer or Sunstreaker? Or is Ratchet having a bad day? Is Ironhide going on about his hip again? He's pretty scary when he starts complaining about that..."

Brawn waved a hand dismissively as he continued down the hall, smirking. "You'll see."

"Thanks...I think." After a while, he shrugged, resuming his humming.

The rec room was fairly quiet at this time of the cycle, but Bluestreak wasn't there to chit-chat with the other Autobots. Nope, not this time. He had other things he wanted to do before his next shift. He quickly walked to the energon dispensor, getting himself a small cube of mid-grade. He rarely touched the high-grade stuff. Bad things happened when he did. The last time he had some, he completely lost track of how many cubes he had, and he had woken up in his berth some time later to find that someone had glued decorative lights all over his stubby 'wings' and attached a glitch-mouse, which had been very much alive and chirping quite loudly, to the base of the chevron on his forehead.

The resulting trip to the medbay had been embarassing indeed, much worse than the mere fact that such things were glued to him to begin with. Ratchet had yelled a lot, and _how_.

He didn't even sit down to drink his mid-grade. Bluestreak drained the cube as he headed back to the rec room's doors, ready to get a start on his rather short list of things to accomplish before recharge.

That's when he saw the lone mech sitting at a table near the door, positioned where he could observe everyone who entered, but far enough away from the center of the room where nobody would just walk up to him and strike up a conversation.

He hadn't been counting on the gunner showing up, obviously.

Bluestreak smiled. "Hi, Wheeljack!"

The white mech looked up from his own cube of high-grade, wing-blades twitching slightly, as if he was surprised that someone was addressing him. "Oh," he said dully, resonators flashing once. "It's you."

Bluestreak casually sauntered to the table, though he made no move to sit at it. "The Hatchet finally let you out of his lair, huh?"

"It would seem that way." Wheeljack turned the cube in his hands, studying its contents for a moment, then took a long swig from it.

"I hear Sunstreaker's going to be in his cell for a joor, at least."

"Pity."

Bluestreak laughed. "He's had it coming to him for a while. Nobody's been brave enough to actually go through with it though. Besides Sideswipe, but they're brothers, that doesn't really count."

Wheeljack glanced up at him with a distinct look of 'isn't that nice?' in his optics before returning to his drink.

"Do you have any spark-siblings?"

"No."

"Me neither. At least, I don't think so. Memory's a bit patchy sometimes. But I'm pretty sure I don't. Nothing's come up in the files, anyway."

Wheeljack sighed softly, rubbing his forehead distractedly.

_'If I didn't know any better, I'd say he's trying to ignore me.'_ Bluestreak frowned briefly. _'Mister Cranky indeed. Time for a different tactic.'_ "What are you doing in here all by yourself?"

"What does it look like?" the engineer snapped. "I am getting myself as drunk as I can before I head back to the lab and finish clearing out all the slag you Autobots have dumped in it."

"...You need to be drunk to do that?" Bluestreak felt his chevron twitch, betraying his consternation. _'Do I really want to know?'_

"If your work space was right next to the medbay, you'd want to be drunk too so you wouldn't feel like killing yourself after listening to Ratchet rant all cycle."

The gunner chuckled. "Yeah, I guess so. Good thing I don't have to work next to his medbay. Well...I'm not sure going on patrol outside of Autobot space is any _more_ fun. No, definitely isn't, because that's the kind of place where you get attacked by Decepticons, and that means you end up in the medbay and get to listen to Ratchet anyway. The days when the Decepticons don't do anything are the worst, with the waiting to find out if today's the day when you'll end up in the medbay..."

An exasperated moan from the engineer. Wheeljack leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and hiding his face in his hands, resonators flickering pitifully as he muttered to himself. Then he raised his head slightly, looking sadly down at his near-empty cube of high-grade.

Bluestreak tilted his head. _'Wow, this guy's a hard shell to crack. Okay...try something else...'_ "You had a proper tour of this place yet?"

"No," Wheeljack said flatly.

He grinned. "Great! I can show you around. How about it?"

The engineer looked him tiredly. Then, he quickly downed the last of his high-grade. "Why the slag not? Can't get you to shut up anyway, might as well do something constructive with it."

* * *

_'Why, why, why did I allow this mech to show me around the place?'_

If nothing else, Bluestreak was enthusiastic about everything he did. Especially if that thing included talking. Even if the task at hand didn't necessarily _require_ talking, there he was, his vocal processor running at full capacity.

_'Slag, and I thought my interns talked a lot.'_

He wasn't even fully paying attention to what Bluestreak said any more. The smaller mech had a tendency to go off on every tangent that caught his fancy, and while this led to an interesting train of converstion, it was very hard to follow.

"...most of the base's networks are run by the processors on this level. Comm room's up here too. Hey, have you been to the comm room yet?"

"Huh?" Wheeljack was startled out of his thoughts by the realization that he had been asked a question. "No, don't believe so."

"It's where all off-base communications are directed. In-base ones, too, for that matter. Oh, and the security grid is handled in that room too." Bluestreak jabbered on happily. "If you're able to sort through live data dumps, and you have more patience than some mechs I could mention, you'll probably end up spending a shift here once an orn or so. Helps to give Blaster and Red a break, since they're the only two who are really qualified to handle stuff like that..."

_'I'd never thought I'd say this, but are we there yet?'_

They were.

_'Thank Primus.'_

Bluestreak opened the door he had stopped at. It pulled back to reveal a large room with an array of computers set into three of the walls. A red mech was seated at one of the terminals, cables connecting the computer to ports in his collar-guard. Spread out at the other consoles were a handful of tiny chittering mechs, most of whom were so short they wouldn't even come up to Wheeljack's knee. They couldn't even use conventional chairs to reach the computers, instead needing to perch on the consoles themselves in order to have access to the keys and buttons.

_'Cassette drones?'_ the engineer wondered. The concept having a smaller symbiotic partner was nothing new to Wheeljack; he himself didn't have one but he had colleagues back in Etraum who did. But there was a difference between possessing the typical mostly-mindless drone that were the preferred kind of symbiote, and having fully sentient 'cassettes' attached to you. For most mechs, one symbiote was enough, sentient or not.

But not for this guy in the comm room. He had a veritable army of the tiny things.

_'I'm beginning to wonder if_ everyone _here is crazy.'_

"Hey, Blaster, you seen Red?" Bluestreak called in.

The seated mech shook his head. "He just got off shift. Probably went straight to his berth, knowing him. I wouldn't recommend waking him."

"Oh, no, I was just showing Wheeljack around. Don't think he's met Red yet."

"No, I haven't," the engineer said testily. "Who is he?"

"Our security director," Bluestreak explained. "It'd be a good idea for you two to meet so he doesn't get the idea that you're a spy or something."

_'...What the slag.'_

Blaster disconnected a few of the cables from his chassis. "Steeljaw, take over the main lines for a while, will yah?" A yellow, four-legged cassette grunted an affirmation and shifted to Blaster's station as the red mech swiveled around in his chair to face the Autobots in the doorway. He smiled as he turned his chair back and forth lazily. "Don't think he's met me yet, either. Well yeah, I'm Blaster. Currently the only communications officer of this outfit." He gestured to the cassettes around him. "The little guys are mine." Then he curiously tilted his head at the engineer. "You been assigned a particular post by Prowl yet?"

"No, but if you're trying to recruit me to monitor communications for you, you can forget it." Wheeljack frowned at him.

Blaster shrugged idly.

"Hmm...we _should_ probably go see Prowl," Bluestreak said thoughtfully. "Need to figure out what to do with you."

The comm officer chuckled. "Dunno, you may want to wait another cycle or so yet. He may not be too agreeable right now. He's still pretty steamed over what you said to him in the medbay."

Wheeljack eyed him suspiciously. "Eavesdropping over the intercom, are we?"

"Who me? No way. Red's the one who'll pull stunts like that." Blaster smiled at Wheeljack. "I must admit, though...haven't heard anyone backtalk Prowl like that in a long time. It _was_ pretty funny."

* * *

Prowl's office was large enough on its own, but the fact that it was devoid of almost any extraneous decoration made it seem huge. And also somehow ominous.

Not that Wheeljack was bothered by the ominousness of anything.

He refused to sit in the chair that Prowl had offered, instead choosing to stand in the middle of the room with his arms crossed over his chassis. Prowl had taken a similar stance in front of his desk. This was not a friendly meeting in any sense.

"What weapons do you carry?" the lieutenant asked gruffly.

"You must have missed that memo."

"Just answer the question."

"Whatever I've made recently and feel like testing at the moment. Usually, I just blow things up."

If Prowl was irritated by this evasive response, he was doing a better job of hiding it than he had back in the medbay. "Enjoy demolitions much?"

Wheeljack lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "It's something I'm good at. And it gets the job done."

"Discounting your apparent love affair with explosives, what weapons do you possess?"

"Does it matter?"

"Of course it matters!"

_'This guy is way too much fun to mess with.'_ Wheeljack fought to hide the smirk that threatened to show itself.

"I need to know what your capabilities are so I can determine how to best put you to use in this war," the lieutenant continued.

"I'm a mechanical engineer and crack inventor. I make things. Usually they work. Sometimes they don't."

Prowl's shell of resolve cracked every-so-slightly. The curved wing-like panels that arched back from his shoulders flicked downward once, indicated a rising anger. "And you can be assured we'll have plenty of work for you to do around here that relates to your field."

"You had better. Bad things happen when I have nothing to do." He narrowed his optics, smiling slightly as he taunted the lieutenant.

"Would you just answer the damn question already?"

"It's been so long, I've forgotten what it was. Care to refresh my memory?"

"Care to spend a joor staring at the walls of a cell?"

_'Aw...just when it was getting good, too.'_ "Two arm-mounted mid-level photon repeater guns, one shock blast cannon." He motioned to his right shoulder; only the tip of the cannon's muzzle was visible, as the rest of the weapon was collapsed and hidden under his armor. "And whatever the slag else I feel like carrying."

Prowl eyed him warily. "Do I want to know where you got a shock blast cannon?"

"Made it."

"Of course you did."

"Don't believe me? Need a demonstration?"

"That won't be necessary." Prowl paused to write something on the datapad he was holding. "You are to report to Ironhide at the beginning of your next shift."

"What for?"

"He'll want to know about that cannon."

_'Guess it's a good thing I didn't tell him about the--'_

"I'm putting you in his squadron. You _will_ be more respectful to him than you have been to me. He won't be so hesitant to take more...direct measures to get you to cooperate." Prowl glanced up at the inventor, to make sure his warning had gotten through.

Wheeljack was no idiot. Though jerking Prowl around and seeing his reaction to such insubordinate behavior was the most fun he'd had all cycle, there was a difference between that and having obedience literally pounded into him. The difference was that Wheeljack wasn't so fond of the latter.

"I hope I won't have to be dealing with you and Sunstreaker being after each other's life-sparks any more."

"We'll see."

"Let me rephrase: you will _not_ be fighting with him again, or there will be serious consequences."

"Oh really? Like what?"

The lieutenant's voice was steady as he started on what sounded to be a very long list of things. "First, I will grant Ratchet permission to do whatever he wishes to you for having his time wasted with preventable non-battle injuries again. Then, after you spend some time cooling your jets in a detainment cell, you will be assisting with taking inventory of the weapons storeroom, _and_ you will get to clean out the fifth-level turrets..."

"Fine. I get the idea."

Prowl looked almost pleased that he had won this round.

_'Enjoy it while you can.'_

"That is all," the lieutenant said briskly. "Dismissed."

Without a word, Wheeljack stormed out of the room, past Bluestreak, who had been sitting across the hall from the doors to Prowl's office. _'Hold on...was he..._waiting _for me out here?'_

"You okay?" the young mech said as he trotted alongside Wheeljack, trying to keep up with his quick pace.

"Absolutely keen," the engineer said sourly.

"You don't look it."

"Really."

"He really laid into you, huh?"

Wheeljack gave the gunner an icy glare. "It's none of your business."

Bluestreak actually flinched.

Something inside him twisted sickeningly when he realized that he had scared the young mech. "Look, I need some time alone before I have to deal with Ironhide."

"Oh...you're in his squad now?"

"Yes."

The gunner laughed nervously. "Good luck with that."

Wheeljack merely grunted and continued on his way.

Bluestreak, however, had stopped. When he spoke again, his voice a bit softer than before. "Um...you do know that the Twins are in Ironhide's squad, right?"

Metal palm hit metal forehead with enough force for the resulting clang to be heard echoing down the hall for quite a distance in both directions.


	4. Infiltration

If you can spot the G1 episode, you win a cookie :).

* * *

Wheeljack slouched back in his chair in the cluttered lab, letting his arms dangle by his sides and his head hang back. For a joor now he had been training with Ironhide's squadron, and every time he went he came out of it feeling the same: tired and in pain. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if Sideswipe wasn't still sore over working with the mech who had put his brother in a detainment cell. But as it was, every time Ironhide had his back turned, the red mech took the opportunity to harass Wheeljack. Sure, his definition of 'harassment' didn't include the violence that Sunstreaker's did (and because of this, Wheeljack was very glad the gold mech was still being detained), but it still wore on the engineer. By the time each training session finished he felt far more exhausted than he ought to be.

The other squad members mostly ignored their tussles, offering Wheeljack no hope of respite from Sideswipe's relentless, if subtle, attacks. Except for Cliffjumper. If anything, the minibot actually _encouraged_ Sideswipe in his actions.

_'Little slagger.'_

He idly flexed his left arm, wincing at the stiffness in his joints. _'Damn recoil...if I had known I'd ever be using my guns so much I would have installed something to take care of that when I first made them.'_ Though the recoil from his light guns would likely not do serious damage to his arms the way his hard-hitting cannon would, it could eventually wear out the servos in his joints. Which was absolutely no good to a mech who made a living using his hands.

_'I'll have to talk to Ratchet about fixing this. Hmm...maybe a metallic glass to help brace them? Maybe not. The stuff's hard to come by and who knows what the Autobots have.'_ He sat there, rubbing his elbow as he ran through a list of various materials in his head. _'...no, that wouldn't work either. Even if I_ could _get it to stay in layers. Melting point's too low.'_

"Hey, Wheelack."

The engineer was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't realize someone was talking to him for quite a while. "Huh?" He blinked, raising his head. "What?"

Blaster was leaning on the doorframe, head tilted curiously. "You okay?"

"Besides the fact my arms feel like they're going to break off, fine."

"You looked real distant there."

"I was thinking." He intended those words come out much more sharply than they did, but he was simply too tired to put much effort into anything at the moment.

"'Bout what?"

"None of your business. What are you doing down here? This doesn't seem like an area you frequent."

"Not usually. Just running an errand for Red. He needs you to take a look at terminal two. It's refusing link-ups." Blaster jerked a thumb in the general direction of the comm room.

Wheeljack scowled. "I'm an engineer, not a glorified repair 'bot."

Blaster shrugged, unconcerned by Wheeljack's offense. "You're the only one not off-duty at the moment who's qualified to do that kind of work." He lifted one optic ridge. "You aren't really doing much of anything right now, anyway."

"I _was_ thinking, before you so kindly barged in here."

"Uh-huh. Well, if you're not up there in five breems, _you_ get to deal with a slagged-off director of security. Trust me, you don't want that." And with that, Blaster left the lab.

Wheeljack let out a long sigh. _'Some days, I hate my job.'_

* * *

"About time." The voice, rippling with an eerie distortion, came from the red and white mech who sat at the first terminal in the room. Red Alert didn't even turn to look at Wheeljack when he entered the comm room, simply continuing his work, hands waving about, fingers twitching as if pushing invisible buttons in the air.

"Blaster said five breems. I got here in four. You have a problem with that?"

"When the situation concerns _my_ equipment, yes, I do have a problem with that."

"And just what do you plan on doing about it? Going smack me around a few times like Ironhide?" It didn't take a genius to see that Red Alert would be utterly incapable of such action. He wasn't a large mech by any means, and certainly not outfitted for battle. What armor he possessed leaned more toward decoration than protection. Wheeljack couldn't even identify any weapons on the mech.

Red Alert didn't answer for a moment. "That won't be necessary," he said. "I can wreak enough havoc with you in other ways." He sounded almost pleased about this, although it was hard to tell if that was truly the case through the strange warping to his words.

"Oh really? Do tell."

"No." The horn-like sensor nodes on Red's helm sparked once. "I'm on-duty, engineer." And with that, that line of conversation was ended.

Wheeljack crossed his arms over his chassis. "Fine. So what is it you had me dragged up here for?"

The security officer moved then, turning his head slightly towards Wheeljack. His face, including his optics, was completely obscured by a solid mask. Cables were connected to ports that ran up either side of it, restricting him from turning his head to completely face the engineer, and a small handful of lights across the front randomly blinked every so often. "Terminal two is refusing connections." The mask was filtering his voice, giving it that distorted quality Wheeljack had noticed.

"That's what I heard. What else?"

Red Alert turned back to his console, although why, Wheeljack didn't know. He certainly couldn't see the computer through his mask. "Nothing else."

"So you expect me to work blind on a computer I'm not familiar with?" He enjoyed a challenge, but he was tired, and challenges weren't a good thing to be faced with when he wasn't operating at full efficiency.

"You do your job, and I will do mine."

"This _isn't_ my job," Wheeljack muttered to himself as he walked to the recalcitrant terminal. _'Okay then. Let's see what all the trouble is about.'_

Repairing the terminal took a long time. Not necessarily because the problem was hard to fix--it had just been an issue with a few connections getting worn out and fusing to some relay chips--but because Wheeljack was the one fixing it. He could never do just the task he was assigned unless he had someone looking over his shoulder to make sure he didn't get off-track. His mind was always working, always running simulations and coming up with ideas and asking "what if"s, and his hands obeyed, disconnecting these wires and welding those components together in his never-ending quest to make things better, more efficient.

That was perhaps his favorite part of being the Chief Engineer in Etraum. He had free reign to do almost whatever he wanted. Nobody would question him if he spent an entire cycle in his lab working on Primus-knew-what. But this was not Etraum. Here, he was working without a full lab at his disposal, on a sensitive object he was not familiar with.

His slowness at completing the repairs did not go unnoticed. Red Alert had voiced his displeasure to him several times over his internal comm. Wheeljack ignored him for the most part, though he swore to himself if the little red and white mech bothered him one more time without a damn good reason, he'd have to do something drastic.

He plunged his hands into the console, fingers searching for a cable that he had accidentally dropped during Red Alert's latest scoldings. He got as far as the ion tube behind the terminal's lower screen; the glass structure blocked further progress.

_'Damn.'_ He could feel the cable, but it was just beyond his reach. _'And disconnecting ion tubes is such a hassle.'_ Well, _safely_ disconnecting them was difficult. If he was the only one in the room, he wouldn't worry about it. He had gotten ion conducting fluid dumped on his hands more times than he could remember, and despite the minor short-circuits and nasty corrosion it could cause, it didn't bother him much any more, as long as he was able to clean it off before the fumes from the reaction started to mess with his sensors. Not all mechs could tolerate it though, he knew. Not even his coworkers in Etraum would stick around when an ion tube broke in their vicinity.

Wheeljack glanced in Red Alert's direction. Who knew what kind of reaction the uptight twit would have to such a mishap? Just then, he managed to hook one finger around the cable, snagging it. _'Crisis averted.'_

He was still elbow-deep in the computer when he felt his emergency comm line suddenly snap open, exposing his processor to the comm lines of every other mech in the base. He winced at the unwanted mental intrusion, pausing in his work.

-Decepticons in northwest quadrant four,- Red Alert said through the emergency lines. -Approaching at... Base communications down! Prepa-- - He was cut short.

Wheeljack had not been working around live wires--he wasn't _that_ much of a masochist--but suddenly the metal filaments in and around his forearms were very much hot with electricity. His body went rigid with pain, then he found himself laying on his side on the cold floor, resonators flickering although he wasn't speaking, his central processor going through a furious series of reboots to get him operational again.

_'Ow...ow...slag... What did I do_ this _time?'_

He heard the pop-crackle of another overload at the third terminal. And an answering one from the console behind him. He turned his head just in time to see Red Alert's console explode with a burst of sparks. The security director's head snapped back, breaking the cables that had connected him to the computer. He fell backwards out of his chair, hit the floor with a clang, and spasmed once. Blue tendrils of electricity crawled up his mask to the tips of his sensor nodes.

_'That can't be good.'_ Wheeljack stared, unable to move much due to his own systems still coming back online. "Red?"

No answer beyond the occasional twitch of Red Alert's body and the sparks crossing his helm.

When his motors activated a few moments later, he pulled himself toward the security officer. He would have liked to think he did this because Red Alert was an Autobot and he was too now, but in reality it was simply an automatic reaction. When accidents like this happened near him, making sure the injured mech was operational was just something he did. "Red? Red Alert!" He was about to open a comm line to Ratchet when someone else contacted him first.

-Wheeljack? Are you still in the comm room?- He recognized Prowl.

-Yes.-

-What's going on up there? Red's not answering.-

Wheeljack frowned as he looked down at the shuddering form of Red Alert. -That's because he can't.-

-What do you mean?-

-Get off my line so I can call Ratchet!-

Thankfully the lieutenant complied.

-Ratchet!-

-What?- the CMO snapped.

-I need you in the comm room.-

-I'm on my way. Tell me what happened.-

-I don't know. The terminals exploded, and now Red Alert's not responding to me.-

-He said Decepticons were approaching...- the medic said thoughtfully. Then he growled. -It's a distraction. They're after information. I'd bet my ration of high-grade on it. Slag, they're getting good if they can attack Red with a hack.-

Wheeljack raised his head when he heard the dull thudding footsteps of a mech approaching the room. "Ratchet?"

But it was not the medic who stormed in. Instead, a large rust-red mech entered, looking for all the world like he was ready to kill someone. "What happened?" he roared.

The forcefulness of that loud voice, combined with the fact that the irate red mech was quite a bit larger than Wheeljack, startled the engineer. He jumped away from Red Alert, falling backwards as he tripped on a nonexistant obstacle. "Primus, do you just go charging around everywhere you go?"

The red mech glared lasers at him, stepping around Red Alert to take a protective stance in front of the downed officer. "Stay away."

"What the slag...I didn't do anything!" Wheeljack fought the urge to get up and punch the mech just on principle.

The red mech was aiming his arm-mounted cannon at the inventor, and though it wasn't powered at the moment, it still made an effective threat. "I don't know you," he growled. "So I certainly don't have a reason to trust you."

"Stop it, Inferno," Ratchet commanded as he jogged in, followed by his underling, the junior medic First Aid. "Get out of my way."

The mech obligingly stepped away, now concerned more with Red Alert's well-being than the potential threat Wheeljack represented.

Ratchet kneeled next to the security director, shaking his head. "They really did a number on him. First Aid, see if you can get his mask off."

First Aid's right hand folded into a delicate-looking tool, which he carefully slid between the joints in Red Alert's mask. Red flailed as the medic attempted to pry the metal plates apart.

"You two should get to your squadrons," Ratchet said as he held Red Alert down with one hand and with the other carefully removed the remains of the cables from the mask. "Prowl will probably..." His scowl grew darker. "Slag it."

"What?" Wheeljack asked from where he still sat on the floor.

"I can't reach Prowl. Something's jamming even internal comm frequencies now."

_'Mine are still active...'_

"Well go on!," the CMO snapped.

"Yes, sir." Inferno did power up his cannon then and rushed out of the room.

Wheeljack, not knowing what else to do, jumped up and followed. "Where are we off to?" Fighting in an army was not something he was used to, and situations like this certainly hadn't been in any of his training so far.

"North hangar," Inferno rumbled. "Best place to gather, especially since we can't get orders via internal comms now."

"Mine's still working."

Inferno glanced at him. "Really?"

"Yes." _'Now doesn't seem to be a good time to be lying about things like this, you idiot.'_

"I suppose that makes sense," he said as he continued his quick pace. "You're new. The 'Cons haven't had a chance to figure out your frequencies yet."

"That's...comforting. I guess."

_CLANG._

Both mechs halted at the sound, looking around the hall for the source of the noise.

"What the...?" Wheeljack asked in the silence.

Inferno grunted. "Dunno."

Another, softer clang.

He was able to determine the direction the noise was coming from this time. "It's in the walls." And it certainly didn't match with any of the normal creaks and hums of any of the base's ventilation or electronic systems that Wheeljack knew of.

They were silent as they listened for more signs of the mysterious clanking. Wheeljack could hear the soft sounds of something crawling through the walls, brushing past wires and tubing and structural supports. He brought his guns online. _'If this is just a really big glitch-mouse, I am going to be so slagged off.'_

With a sudden motion, Inferno lunged for the wall to his right, his free hand punching through the metal paneling and pulling it open as a jagged, gaping hole.

At first, Wheeljack thought two of Blaster's cassettes were waiting within. But then the two tiny mechs launched themselves at the Autobots, screeching and flailing in a manner that was most certainly not friendly. One managed to hook his claws into the ceiling, hanging from it as he released a flurry of small spinning blades at Wheeljack.

The engineer brought an arm up to defend himself from the weapons; most bounced off, but a few embedded themselves in his gun's casing. He fired at the little silver mech in retaliation, but he was gone, racing down the hall with his twin.

"Slaggers!" Inferno shouted as he gave chase. He fired at them, but missed.

Wheeljack ran after them, also taking a few potshots at the cassettes. It was, in the end, a fruitless gesture. Sharpshooting was not his specialty. He did much better just blasting an entire area and hoping he damaged what he had been going for.

"Slag, forgot about that..." Inferno muttered to himself. "Wheeljack!"

"What?" He glanced at the large mech.

Inferno didn't look back as he let off a few shots to keep the tiny cassettes from going down a side hall. "Call for backup, would you?"

"You think we need backup for these little things?"

The red mech glared at him then. "You have no idea, do you? Just do it."

Wheeljack narrowed his optics, but opened a line anyway, sending out a request for help to anyone who might hear it.

He didn't recognize the voice that answered. As a result, he was slightly disturbed that the mech knew his name. -...Wheeljack? Your comm still works?-

-No.-

-Ah, sarcasm. Not really good in the middle of a battle, y'know. What's up?-

-Inferno and I are chasing a couple of cassettes. Down the main corridor in Level Two, heading west. Requesting back-up.-

-Help is on the way. Be there in a flash.-

Wheeljack repeated this to Inferno.

"Who answered?" the red mech asked.

"How should I know?" Wheeljack snapped. "I haven't even seen all of the Autobots stationed here." He stopped, turning slightly to guard himself against a flurry of bullets from one of the cassettes.

"Just wonderi--move!"

Wheeljack didn't have a chance to move as commanded. He was tackled into a side corridor by Inferno, squished against the floor by the red mech's mass. A moment later, he saw a very bright flash of light that pained his optics, even though he wasn't facing the source of the light. When the whiteness had faded to an acceptable level, he gave Inferno a shove. "Get off me!"

Inferno was already getting up. "Thanks for being so grateful that I just saved your sorry aft."

"Right, thanks, whatever." Wheeljack pushed himself to his feet. He peered out into the main corridor.

The walls were scorched black in some places, crackling as the metal cooled quickly in the air. There was a distinct residue of ozone throughout the hall.

_'Hmm...small incindiary flare? Impressive to see. Not too much kick to them though.'_

"Thanks for the assist, Jazz," Inferno called into the corridor.

"You two all right?" A dark silver mech about half Wheeljack's size walked to them through the haze that now penetrated the hall. His v-shaped visor slid up to reveal concerned optics.

"Fine," Inferno said. "Did you get them?"

Jazz shook his head. "They saw me coming and dodged. Not even sure they felt the heat. Sure gave them a scare though."

"Why are you so worried about two cassettes?" Wheeljack interjected.

Inferno looked at him as if that was the most stupid question one could ever ask. "Rumble and Frenzy," he said.

"Soundwave's cassettes," Jazz added. "If we could hold onto them we'd have one hell of a set of hostages to bargain with."

"He'd be much less likely to attack us, that's for sure," Inferno mused.

"I...see." He didn't, really.

Jazz was staring thoughtfully at the ceiling, where the flare he had set off had burned a hole through a few of the panels. "So that's where they got to..."

Inferno was looking at the hole as well. "Access shaft."

They were off again, Jazz leading the way as he followed the ceiling access tunnel, which was denoted by a series of rivets along its edges. Even if the visual cues had not been there, it wouldn't have been hard to find the cassettes. They were fast, but their clicking footsteps echoed along the hidden tunnel as they raced ahead of the Autobots. The noise was more than enough to track them by. Then, they suddenly went silent.

"Slag, drop shaft!" Jazz turned a corner sharply, running now for one of the lift units.

Inferno and Wheeljack, being larger than the sprightly Jazz, were unable to turn so quickly and ended up sliding across the floor, nearly missing the hall before being able to correct their course. By the time they caught up with Jazz, the little mech was working on pulling the lift doors apart.

"Plan on jumping down?" Inferno grumbled as he hooked his fingers around one of the doors and pulled. It inched back slowly, stubbornly refusing to move with any sort of haste.

"They're probably headed down to the tunnels," Jazz answered. He stepped aside as Wheeljack grabbed the other door and pulled.

Inferno snorted. "The tunnels? They're half collapsed to the Pits. Nobody's used them in generations!"

"Doesn't mean they aren't using them now." When the doors were opened far enough, Jazz slipped through, disappearing into the blackness.

"Hey, wait up!" Inferno shouted. In a softer voice, he added, "That guy's going to get himself killed."

"And we aren't?" Wheeljack replied.

"Hmph." Inferno managed to squeeze himself through the opening.

Lowering his wing-blades so as not to get them caught on anything, Wheeljack ducked through the doors, narrowly missing having them snap shut on his heels. Balancing precariously on the inner lip of the doorway, he stared down into darkness. "So, how many levels does this place have, exactly?" he asked to Inferno, who was hanging from one of the lift's tracks that vertically extended the length of the shaft.

"What, scared of a little fall?" The red mech relaxed his grip slightly, and began a rapid descent into the abyss below him. Wheeljack could see sparks coming every so often from Inferno's hands as the mech gripped the tracks firmly enough to not just free-fall to the bottom.

"No," Wheeljack said to the air. "Just wanted to know how much damage to my chassis I should be expecting when I hit bottom." He maneuvered himself around to the lift tracks, gripping two of them tightly, setting his feet against the rails, effectively wedging himself between them, with his back against the wall. He raised his wing-blades until they were locked behind the tracks, hoping that would keep him from just falling forward.

_'I am going to regret this.'_ He relaxed his grip.

He reached the bottom faster than he had realized he would, stumbling as his feet touched the ground. His back burned from where it had scraped along the wall, his legs were sore from attempting to control his rate of descent, and something felt most definitely broken in the stiff hinge at the base of his right wing-blade. Inferno and Jazz were already gone; the door to the lift on this level was broken through.

_'Slaggers couldn't wait for me, could they?'_ He burst from the dark lift shaft into the lit corridor, following the sounds of Inferno's heavy footsteps. The hallways here were old and worn, obviously not currently in use. They were nearly collapsing from disrepair in a few places. In some areas, the wall panels had completely fallen off, sometimes to reveal a dark, and even older, tunnel beyond.

_'Primus, civil engineers would be having a fit over this.'_

He caught up with the Autobots just in time to see Jazz shoot at the ceiling, and the two cassettes fell through the resulting hole. Jazz neatly caught the first one. The second was pounced on by Inferno.

"Where's your daddy Soundwave now, huh?" Jazz hissed to the flailing cassette in his arms.

"G-g-go frag yours-s-self!" The silver creature shrieked, his multiple blue optics burning bright with rage. "Slagging Autobot!"

"Disssgusting Autobot!" the other cassette echoed. "Get your fffilthy hands off me!"

"Not a chance," Inferno replied as he none-too-gently shifted his hold on the thing.

"C'mon," Jazz said. "To the cells with them. Then we gotta get back surface-side. There's some Seeker trouble we need to deal with." He turned back towards the lift.

Being much taller than the small Autobot, Wheeljack's line of vision was far above Jazz's head. He found himself looking beyond the gray mech, into the black tunnel that was visible through one of the collapsed panels in the wall behind him.

Two red optics, their light diffused by a semi-translucent yellow visor, were staring back at him. He caught a glimpse of a glint of light on metal as the hidden mech lifted his weapon.

The engineer brought his guns up with a shout. "Jazz!"

Jazz avoided getting shot simply because he was small. Inferno, who had been facing the same direction as Wheeljack, saw the approaching laser bolt and was able to dodge it. After he recovered from the shock, Jazz whirled around to see their attacker, still tightly grasping the screeching cassette.

It was difficult to make out much of the dark-colored mech, as he stayed in the shadowed tunnel, but what Wheeljack _could_ see was nothing good. The mech was half again as big as Inferno. At least.

"S-s-soundwave!" the cassette in Jazz's hold cried. "Kill them! K-k-kill them!"

"I don't think so." Jazz was holding the tiny mech in front of his chest like a shield. "He'd have to get through you first, and he ain't gonna do that."

Soundwave spoke then. Wheeljack shuddered at the sound--lifeless, empty, yet hauntingly musical. "Release them, Autobots."

"And get shot by you? No thanks." Jazz was backing up; Wheeljack and Inferno did likewise.

Soundwave tailed them, slowly stepping into the light, revealing a heavily-built mech, the edges of his armor curved and pointed like spines, his face covered by a featureless mask.

As if it was following the Decepticon, a sensation like something heavy and oppressive was closing in on Wheeljack's comm lines. _'Slag it, this is bad...'_ -Prowl!-

-Don't even think about it,- Soundwave's creepy voice echoed in his mind.

Wheeljack ignored him. -Fraggit! Prowl, Level...Seven, south tunnels...- His call for help was cut short.

"Nice try," Soundwave intoned. "Unfortunately for you, you lack the protection of my cassettes."

The flash of a cannon, the feeling of something heavy striking him in the chest, and Wheeljack was sent reeling backwards. He lay on the floor for a while, wincing as the armor that comprised his collar-guard sizzled. _'Ow... Not even been here a whole orn and I'm already getting shot at by Decepticons again.'_ He shuddered. _'Is he really that bad of a marksman that he'd miss my head even at this range?'_

Inferno nudged his foot into Wheeljack's shoulder. "Get up!" he hissed in a whisper.

"Yesss, yes, get up, pathhhetic Autobot," the cassette in the red mech's hand sneered.

Grumbling to himself, Wheeljack lifted his left arm, aiming at the cassette with his gun, and fired. The tiny mech screeched as an arm and half of his head went flying off with a loud ping and snap.

_'Annoying little slagger.'_

Inferno dropped the wounded cassette in surprise; it hobbled as quickly as it could back to Soundwave, who didn't flinch as it crawled up his leg and tucked itself into a hold on the Decepticon's back.

"You _idiot_!" Inferno snarled at Wheeljack.

_'Frag you.'_ There was no telling if his message had reached Prowl, no telling if help would be coming. He was through with waiting for what might be a false hope...he was through with meekly waiting for death to claim him. "Get back!" the inventor shouted to the Autobots.

Despite the stiff protests of his scorched chest, he twisted, reaching around into a compartment between the bases of his wing-blades. _'Good thing I thought to make two of these.'_ He withdrew a small rounded object the size of his palm from the storage space. Without waiting to make sure his companions had cleared the area, and with little regard to his own safety, he threw the item at Soundwave. _'Yeah, I'm probably going to be a little too close to this thing when it goes off._

_'Too late now.'_

* * *

Ratchet braced himself as the medbay, no, the entire base, suddenly shook. His storage cabinets rattled and loose equipment jumped, some completely falling off the tables.

When the tremors had subsided, First Aid leaned against the table where he had been working on an injured Brawn. "What was that?"

"'Cons can't be this close already," Brawn muttered. "Didn't feel like a Seeker strike anyway. _That_ came from down below."

"The tunnels?"

"Wheeljack and Inferno were chasing two of Soundwave's minions when I last saw them," Ratchet stated as he returned to his work on Red Alert. "Maybe they're trying to escape through the tunnels. First Aid, hurry up and finish with Brawn. No telling when we'll start getting serious casualties in here."

The medbay was silent for many breems as the two medics worked furiously on their respective charges. Brawn's wounds were easy enough to fix, and soon the battle-ready minibot was sent on his way. Red Alert, however...

Ratchet frowned to himself. There was the obvious damage to the security director: the burned-out cable connections along his mask, the various portions of his central processor that had been overloaded and consequently fried by the surge of electricity, the nearly-microscopic vesicles in his head that had burst and kept leaking coolant into his optics... And then there was the not-so-obvious. The vicious hack had damaged Red Alert's programming, adding things that shouldn't be there, switching around things that were important, generally making a nasty mess of things. Ratchet hated dealing with these kinds of injuries. He could fix them, of course, but it would take time. He was no programmer and had to be extra cautious when it came to repairing a processor.

The medbay doors suddenly flew open. Wondering what he'd have to deal with now, Ratchet raised his head to look.

He wasn't quite expecting this.

Jazz walked in, holding a hand over the left side of his face. The decorative, blade-like horn that had been on that side of his helm was missing, and his armor was fused together in a few places, in other places melted away. Thankfully there didn't appear to be much damage to the underlying mechanics beyond slight heat scoring.

"Table three, doc?" Jazz asked, still as upbeat as ever.

Ratchet nodded, watching the silver mech take his place.

And then Prowl and Inferno, looking relatively unharmed, walked in, carrying Wheeljack.

Ratchet could only stare.

Wheeljack's once white armor had been burned gray over most of its extent. Lodged in his abdomen was Jazz's missing horn, and sticking out of his shoulder was a large piece of what looked to be a ceiling panel. His lower legs were nearly missing; at least, all of the armor there had been stripped off. The engineer was still alert although, judging by the odd, disjointed things he was saying, not lucid in the slightest. Prowl and Inferno set him on the nearest table without waiting for Ratchet's approval.

"What the _slag_ happened?" the medic finally blurted out.

"Southwest wing of Level Seven collapsed," Inferno said tersely. "And every other level above it. Grapple's going to blow a fuse when he sees it."

Ratchet scowled. "Yes, but...what _happened_?"

Prowl whirled around, irate. "Our dear friend failed to inform _anyone_ that he was carrying an explosive weapon in one of his holds."

"What?" Ratchet seethed. Carrying an explosive without anyone's knowledge was dangerous enough, but to be so foolish as to hide it within your own chassis and not in a specifically-designed storage compartment?

Jazz laughed weakly from his seat. "He, um...apparently he didn't use all the solar grenades he had back in Etraum."

"_WHAT_?!"

Prowl's wing-panels were quivering in anger. "Ratchet, check him over to make sure he's not smuggling any more dangerous items."

"Before or after I repair him?"

"I don't care."

Ratchet furiously revved the rotary saw in his left arm. "With pleasure."


	5. Red Alert!

_Some days, he just didn't feel like doing much. Hence why he was slouched back in his office chair, feet propped up on his desk as he idly scrolled through reports on his computer screen. He heard his lab doors slide open, and someone walked through the expansive room to his office, stopping in the entrance._

_"What do you think you're doing on my floor again, Greenstar?" he jibed._

_"I'm here for revenge for having my equipment destroyed on a regular basis?" the senior chemist offered._

_"Don't tell me you're still sore over me borrowing--"_

_Greenstar snorted. "'Borrowing' indeed." He waved his hand dismissively. "As long as it gets replaced."_

_"It will."_

_"Good." He stepped into the room, drawing out the datapad he held tucked in the crook of one arm. "Thought you would want this."_

_"What is it?" He took the pad, turning it around so he could read it._

_"Intern applications."_

_"That time of the vorn again?" he muttered._

_"I already removed those I knew for certain you wouldn't want around." Greenstar chuckled. "Guess what, you get to supervise this batch."_

_He shook his head vehemently. "No, I don't. You_ do _remember what happened the last time I dealt with interns, right?"_

_"You were an intern yourself, if I recall correctly." The chemist gave him a knowing smirk. "You've pretty much made a point of avoiding any sort of teaching position since then."_

_"And there's a reason for that." He shuddered._

_"You're the only engineer here who hasn't been tailed by interns in the past ten vorns. It's your turn."_

_He sighed, as if that would convey his full feelings on the matter._

_"Oh come on, Wheeljack. It's not like you aren't going to pawn them off to me at the first opportunity anyway."_

_"Damn right I will. For their own safety, of course."_

_"Of course."_

_''Their own safety'...it's mine I should be worried about...'_

_'Wait...something happened...what happened?'_

When he came back online fully, the first thing he felt was utter panic. He had no idea why, he just did. It was especially concerning because he simply wasn't the kind of mech who got scared to the point of panicking very easily.

Something was terribly wrong, but he had no idea what.

_'Down...down in the tunnels...Jazz and Inferno and Soundwave and...oh slag, I purposely detonated a solar grenade right next to myself.'_

Wheeljack sat up abruptly and immediately regretted the action as something in his torso cracked and began leaking warm energon. With a hiss of pain, he fell back down again. _'What the slag is going on?'_ He took a more careful approach this time, opening his optics to look around first. After a while, he figured out where he was. _'I'm in the medbay._

_'Guess I survived the explosion.'_

Something hard and heavy smacked him across the top of his helm, forcefully enough that it hurt. Optics flickering, he flailed in shock and distress. "What the _slag_!" He tried to bring his guns online...but they wouldn't respond. He reached to the cannon on his shoulder, but its locks refused to release. More panic. _'Why aren't my weapons working?'_

Another blow to his head. He felt his helm dent slightly under the pressure. "I swear to _Primus_," someone bellowed, his voice echoing loudly around the medbay, "if you _ever_ do something like that again..."

Now frantic to defend himself, Wheeljack balled his hands into fists and swung. He had no idea who he was aiming for, or even where they were, and his hands hit only air. Someone caught his left wrist, restraining him from attempting to strike again.

"If you don't stop _right this instant_, I will disassemble you into your basic components and feed you to sharkticons!"

"Where the slag are my guns?!" Wheeljack shouted, struggling to free his arm from the iron grip of whoever was in the medbay with him.

"Offline, like I should have done with them the moment you set foot on the base!"

"Slagger..." the engineer growled as he pulled and twisted his arm, to no avail.

"Don't make me call Sunstreaker and Sideswipe in here to hold you down."

He considered that. No, having the gladiators sit on him again didn't sound fun. Slowly, his struggling calmed and eventually ceased. His arm was released, and Ratchet, medic of doom, stepped around to his side. "You broke the patches open," he growled as he examined Wheeljack. "This is why you _don't_ move around like that until your self-repair systems have had time to absorb fixes."

"Well how the slag was I supposed to know?" Wheeljack retorted. He pressed a hand against his aching head.

He had never seen Ratchet so irate. He was positive that had he not been in the medbay, the CMO would have killed him right then and there. "Because _you_ were the one who so kindly decided to commit an act of near-suicide and take down a third of the base with you!"

_'Only a third?'_ He grunted in response, now more concerned with the sudden burning sensation in his legs than talking to Ratchet. Carefully, he propped himself up on his elbows and peered down at his legs. His shin armor was half missing, and the supports underneath looked to have been scored by a scalpel in preparation for replacement of the plating. _'Well...that explains that.'_

Ratchet put a hand on his shoulder and roughly pulled him back down onto the table. "Don't move or I'll just leave the cracks in your energon tubes and let it all leak out until you're offline."

"You wouldn't."

"I've done it before. I'll do it again."

"You are a horrible medic."

"If it helps to pound a lesson home, I'll do whatever it takes." A brief flare of pain in his torso, then numbness as his sensors in that area went offline. "You could have _killed_ Jazz and Inferno," Ratchet snarled.

"I told them to get out of the way."

"Jazz's armor was slagged to the Pits," the CMO snapped. "He lost a horn, which you so kindly picked up for him. By getting it embedded in one of your main energon lines! Do you know how much force it takes to snap off his horns like that?"

"Well, at least I found it, huh?" Wheeljack said, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

"You had a ceiling panel in your shoulder," Ratchet continued, on a roll with his rant.

_'Ah yes...I remember that. It hurt.'_

"You're lucky the heat didn't sear your memory banks for good. I've half a mind to do it myself anyway."

A chuckle from somewhere else in the medbay. "Listening to you talk was more entertaining than hearing Jazz when he's overcharged."

Wheeljack frowned at the ceiling. "I don't remember saying anything after..."

"Well, you weren't exactly in your right processor at the time. In fact..."

"Quiet, Bluestreak," Ratchet grumbled.

_'Oh slag...what did I say?'_ He fervently hoped it wasn't something that would come back to bite him in the aft at a later point in time. That had happened only once before in his entire life, when he had somehow been convinced to let his coworkers drag him to Maccadam's. He had lost track of time, and of how many cubes of high-grade he had. But then, it was hard to keep track of such things when you weren't the one paying for it.

His memory of the rest of the cycle was a bit patchy.

For many breems the medbay was silent, except for the occasional crackle from Ratchet's welder. Wheeljack was nearly ready to ask the medic to take the sensors in his legs offline, because they were _really_ hurting now, just from exposure to the air. Armor was on a mech's body for a reason.

In boredom, he lifted his left arm and examined it. His forearm was burned gray in a few places, obscuring the dark green stripe that was normally quite visible. _'Hmph. Nothing I can't fix on my own.'_ He was surprised to find that his shoulder didn't hurt in the slightest, giving no indication of how close he had come to having that arm amputated by a flying sheet of metal. _'Okay, so Ratchet does a good job. I'll give him that.'_ Other parts of him weren't so lucky. His sides ached...and his back...and...

Despite Ratchet's earlier warning, and the fact that the medic was hard at work in his torso, Wheeljack sat up again. "What the _slag_ did you do to my holds?"

Ratchet scowled as he jerked his hands out of the way to avoid a potential disaster. "Welded them shut."

The engineer felt along his side. Sure enough, the compartment there was rimmed by a smoothly-soldered line. He snarled. "You slagger!" He took a swing at the medic. "What the frag did you do that for?"

Ratchet stepped back, easily avoiding the engineer's fist. "Just following orders."

"Who the hell ordered you to weld my holds shut?"

"Doesn't matter."

"_WHY_?"

The medic looked at him coolly. "To ensure that you won't be running around with any more unaccounted-for bombs any time soon."

Wheeljack swung his legs over the side of the table and made to stand, but his lower legs and ankles were far too pained to support his weight. He sat back down heavily. "What I carry in my holds is none of your damn business!"

"It is when you put other Autobots' lives at risk!" Ratchet raised his arc welder threatningly. "I'm glad for your sake that the solar grenade was the last thing you had been carrying, because if it hadn't been, you'd have more than just your holds stuck closed now."

Mirroring the medic's actions, Wheeljack activated the welder in his right wrist--he was surprised to find that it was still online and perfectly operational. _'The slagger dug through my holds!'_ His vents whirred as they tried to compensate for the heat generated by his over-excited state.

"Going to attack a superior officer?" Ratchet said calmly.

"You _violated_ me!"

"Get over it." When the medic moved closer, he found the white-hot laser welder hovering dangerously close to his chassis. "Oh for Primus' sake, it's not permanent. Slag, even if _I_ don't open them again, you certainly have the tools to."

"That's not the issue here," Wheeljack said. "_Nobody_ goes snooping around in my body."

Ratchet was completely unimpressed. "I'm a medic. That's what I do."

The inventor's wing-blades swiveled so they jutted out stiffly above his shoulders, indicating his rage. "I think you abused that priviledge a bit much here."

"Will you just lay down and let me do my work?"

Wheeljack didn't move.

"Okay, the hard way it is."

Ratchet was much more agile than Wheeljack had expected. A smooth, quick sidestep, the medic's hand clamping down on the back of his neck, fingers reaching up under the back of his helm, and then nothingness.

* * *

He hadn't been this busy since they were first renovating the old military base to serve as the new Autobot headquarters. He and Red Alert had worked nearly non-stop for several joors to create a functional security system. It had entailed not just programming computers, but repairing or replacing many of the physical components as well, all the way from the perimeter sensors to the command consoles.

The difference this time was that Blaster was on his own. Even his cassettes could only do so much to help; they were experts at monitoring the system, not so much at fixing it.

He had done what he could over the past several cycles, even forgoing recharge to get the work done. The security grid was running again, although at a minimal level. He had traced the route of the hack to determine what the Decepticons had been after, and he had even made a copy of the programming used to smash through Red Alert's personal defences, as Ratchet had requested. All this had really pushed his multi-tasking skills to the limit.

With a heavy sigh, he retrieved a data chip from his console, sliding it into a small compartment in his forearm. "Rewind."

The black minibot glanced at him. "Yeah?"

"I'll be back in a bit, going to talk to Optimus and Ratchet. You're in charge." Blaster pushed his chair away from the computer, standing slowly.

Rewind tilted his head. "Okay. Just, you know, don't pass out from exhaustion on the way there or anything."

The comm officer smiled at his cassette as he walked out of the room. "It takes more than a few cycles without a proper recharge to take me down." But he did feel like he'd drop to the floor asleep without a moment's notice at any time. _'Come on...just have to make it to Optimus.'_

The Prime's office was not too far away from the comm room under normal circumstances. But ever since Wheeljack had taken out a large section of the base (and the closest lift), the trip was twice as long as it should have been. Blaster had to wander around a bit to find his way to the next operational lift to take down to the offices--there were no stairs to use instead. Stairs were tricky things to design, given the huge size variation in Cybertronians. Everyone had a different stride, and what was a comfortable stairway design for one could be impossibly huge for another. Or, in the case of the truly huge mechs from Cybertron's first moon, they could be frustratingly small. Constructing stairs was simply not worth the effort in most cases.

What Blaster wouldn't have given for some right now. The nearest lift was at the far west side of the base. After taking the short ride down a level, and having to share lift space with the ever-pleasant Gears, Blaster finally reached Optimus' office. He was relieved to find Ratchet was there, as well Optimus' usual entourage of Prowl and Jazz. That would save him a trip to the medbay, and a second explanation of his findings. He wasn't sure he would have had the energy to do that.

The large blue-and-red leader of the Autobots shifted his attention from the CMO when Blaster entered. "Good to see you out of the comm room," Optimus said by way of greeting. "Do you have news?"

Blaster pulled out the data chip. "It's all in my report, sir."

Ratchet snatched the chip out of his hand before Optimus had a chance to, hurriedly shoving it into the datapad he carried. He was soon lost in reading the comm officer's findings.

"How's it looking for Red?" Jazz inquired.

"They just wanted to use him to access the stuff behind higher-level encryptions," Blaster said tiredly.

"Well, they obviously failed at that," Ratchet growled.

The comm officer nodded. "The virus they left behind was supposed to hit our mainframe, not Red."

"And a fragging mess it's made of him, too. Pardon my language," Ratchet added without any hint of sincerity.

"What were they after?" Prowl interjected before the medic could go off on another rant.

"The location of the Allspark."

Optimus shook his head. "Megatron knows that's not stored on any computer in the entire Empire. Safety reasons... He wouldn't waste the effort trying to find it."

Blaster rubbed the side of his face, trying to keep himself awake. "It was just a cover. I think their real objective was to find the space bridge codes for Jhias."

Ratchet looked up from the datapad. "Jhias? What would he want with the jungle planet?"

"Resources," Optimus said simply.

"There's nothing there but organics and half-feral Transformers." Ratchet's optics winked on and off in confusion.

The Autobot leader gave Ratchet a wary look. "It's those 'half-feral Transformers' he'd want. The conehead Seekers are created on Jhias."

"Oh." The CMO looked blankly at the datapad. An uneasy silence fell on the room.

"Slag," Jazz said softly. "He didn't get the codes, did he?"

Blaster shook his head. "Red managed to lock them out before he got hacked and virus'ed."

There was a tangible sense of relief from all present.

"But if he wants coneheads that badly, he'll get 'em," Jazz commented. "He'll try to get the codes some other way."

"I agree," said Prowl.

Ratchet suddenly looked up at Optimus. "The Jhiasian ambassadors. They're still in Iacon. They never had a chance to leave before Shockwave commandeered the space bridge."

"You don't think Megatron would really attack ambassadors, do you?" Blaster said. "That would sort of defeat the purpose of trying to get help from Jhias, wouldn't it?"

"I wouldn't put it past him," Prowl muttered. "They would know the codes to their own home planet. And they're not safeguarded by Red Alert's programming."

"We have to get them to safety!" Jazz said excitedly. "Iacon's no longer protected. They won't stand a chance against Decepticon interrogators."

"You think Jhiasians would allow us to protect them?" Prowl gave Jazz an icy look, not amused by the smaller mech's enthusiasm. "They're not exactly known for being friendly themselves."

"We'll have to take that chance," Optimus put in. "We cannot risk having the Decepticons gain access to more Seekers."

"We'll be breaking neutrality agreements," Prowl argued.

"I would say Megatron already did that when he tried to steal the codes to Jhias in the first place." Ratchet met Prowl's glare without any trace of fear.

Optimus turned to his lieutenant. "Prowl, I want you to have a team assembled and ready to go to Iacon in thirty breems. I will have more instructions for you then."

Though he still did not appear to fully agree with this course of action, Prowl nonetheless saluted. "Yes, sir." He hurried out of the office.

"Is the security grid operational?" Optimus asked of Blaster.

The comm officer grimaced. "Not really. It's just running on its basic programs right now. Nobody can access our more sensitive files just by looking, but it won't hold up to another attack. I just...I can't do much more for it myself. Red has the access codes for the higher-level programs."

Optimus nodded, resting a large hand on Blaster's shoulder. "You've done more than enough. I'll have Mirage cover the rest of your shift. You need to get some rest."

Blaster smiled weakly. "Thanks, sir."

The leader returned his smile, then faced Ratchet. "When will Red Alert be able to return to duty?"

"He's functional now," Ratchet said off-handedly as he continued scanning Blaster's report. "I've got him on bed rest for the next few cycles. He can return to light duty after that. Fixing hacks takes time though, he may not be back to full capacity for several joors, at least."

"And Wheeljack?"

Ratchet only scowled furiously.

"I see. Jazz, any word on how the base repairs are going?"

The gray mech gave a short laugh as he absentmindedly rubbed at his left horn, which had been missing not too long ago. "After Grapple calmed down he got a repair detail organized. Things are moving along. Not sure how long it'll take though, you'd have to ask him. Heh..." He smiled to himself. "Red's been screamin' about it being a security breach ever since he woke up."

Optimus chuckled. "Sounds like you're doing a fine job repairing him, Ratchet."

* * *

_'Yes...avoid going to Ratchet for repairs at all costs.'_

Three cycles, several shouting matches, and many more dents in his helm later, Wheeljack had finally been released from the medbay on restricted light duty. His first course of action had been to open his holds again, which was an awkward task given the position of most of them, but after temporarily confiscating some of Ratchet's tools for his own use (without the medic knowing, of course), he managed to get them into an acceptable working condition on his own.

His weapons, however, were another story. Since Wheeljack was not yet allowed to return to training with Ironhide, Ratchet had smugly declared there was no need for him to be running around armed. The engineer had tried to convince Ratchet otherwise, citing the unexpected Decepticon attack that had put him in the medbay to begin with, but the CMO was a stubborn old glitch. His weapons remained nonfunctional.

He swore to himself that the moment he had a chance, he'd figure out exactly what Ratchet had done to offline his weapons systems so he could undo it. _'Might be a good thing to know for future reference, too.'_

If there was any good coming from this situation, it was that for almost a joor now he had done nothing but work in the lab. If that could be considered good.

The room the Autobots had agreed to set aside for his work space was nothing like the lab he considered home back in Etraum. It was nearly as big as Ratchet's medbay next door--which was nothing small--but over the vorns had become a place where all the odds and ends and random pieces of equipment from all over the base were stored, some things in better condition than others.

Luckily enough for him, none of the equipment in the odd selection constituted even the most basic tools any self-respecting engineering lab would possess.

_'I've been here how long? And I still haven't sorted through all the slag they've tossed in here.'_ He made a disgusted face as he pulled another box close to him and examined its contents. _'Do I even want to know where they got this many pulse relays? Or how they all got so heat-scored? Or why they feel the need to hold onto four boxes of them?'_ He pushed that box aside and chose another. _'Make that five boxes. Slag, you could almost build an entire minibot out of all these.'_ He lifted one of the relays and examined it. _'Hmm. Might not be a bad excercise, if I can find the time for it.'_

Through the wall behind him, the wall that separated his work space from the medbay, he could hear Ratchet ranting. The CMO's screaming wasn't anything new, as Wheeljack had discovered during his recent stint in there. But it was incredibly annoying. _'Next on the agenda: soundproof that wall. Slag, that mech can_ shout_. Wonder how far across the base you can hear him...'_ Not that he was one to talk. He had been every bit as loud as Ratchet each time they had argued while he had been holed up in the medbay.

_'I still don't see why he's so upset that I blew up part of the base.'_ Wheeljack frowned thoughtfully, pausing in his perusal of the random items in the room. _'It stopped Soundwave, didn't it? Even if he did manage to escape, no one's going to be using the tunnels again any time soon.'_

Ratchet's shouts came through the wall again.

He had to admit he was curious as to what had the medic so riled up this time. But his sense of self-preservation had, somewhat belatedly, kicked in after he had been released from the medbay. He now made sure to avoid Ratchet in the hallways, and would walk as quickly as he could past the medbay's doors when going to the lab. He could tolerate getting picked on by Sideswipe well enough, but having a medic coming after you with the intent to cause harm was frightening indeed. And also disturbing on some level.

_'...Oh, slag it. I'm not doing anything right now anyway.'_ Setting down the small box he had grabbed, he walked out of his lab to the next door down the hall and cautiously peered in.

Blurr, the resident Velocitronian, was doing an excellent job of avoiding Ratchet as the medic waved his arms about to accentuate his rantings. What Blurr was doing in the medbay was a mystery to Wheeljack--he had been one of the few to escape injury in the Decepticon attack. But there he was, engaged in the losing end of an argument with Ratchet, scooting back and forth across the medbay in a strange dance as he dodged the CMO's heavy fists.

"You _lost_ him? How can you lose him?" Ratchet whirled on the blue mech, a moment too late as the Velocitronian had skipped aside again.

"Baseisbig," Blurr said in his distinctive dialect, raising his hands in an apologetic gesture.

"This isn't the slagging city of Iacon, Blurr! It's a military base! There's only so many places he could be!"

"Maybe he slippedoutwith Prowl?"

"What's going on?" Wheeljack asked carefully, not entirely certain he wanted to be dragged into this.

Ratchet turned to him. "Red Alert."

"Can't find'em." Blurr looked at Wheeljack helplessly. "Youseen'em?"

He shook his head. "I've been in the lab all cycle."

Ratchet growled to himself as he stalked to a panel set into the wall near the doors. "He needs to get in here so I can fix his damn processor." He punched in a few buttons. "Blaster."

**-What's up?-** The comm officer's lilting voice came over the intercom.

"Can you locate Red Alert?"

**-One moment.-** A pause. -**Sorry Ratch, he ain't showing up. He knows he's being looked for.-**

"Slagger," Ratchet muttered darkly.

"How can he not be showing up?" Wheeljcked wondered aloud.

"Redmade securitygrid," Blurr explained. "Grid'sdownmostlyIthink, heknows howtohide anyway."

"Are you sure he's still on the base?" Ratchet asked.

**-The last time he appears in the system is shortly after his shift last cycle,-** Blaster said. -**The last time the cameras show anyone leaving the base was three cycles ago. Prowl's group. Red may know how to hide from scans, but unless he's pulled a Mirage there's no way he can hide from visuals in order to slip through the gates.-** A hesitation. -**I really need him back. The upper-level programs still aren't working.-**

Ratchet looked concerned. "What?"

"NotlikeRed," Blurr said softly.

"I agree," the medic muttered. "Slagging control freak...he should have gotten it working the moment I let him back on duty. The hack must have damaged him worse than I thought." He sounded guilty about this, much to Wheeljack's surprise.

**-I'm starting to worry,-** Blaster admitted. -**There's some residual glitches from the hack that I've been unable to eliminate. They're hiding out in the programs that I can't access, and still doing their job. The security grid's being broken down again.-**

Wheeljack listened intently, not realizing how tense he was until his hand began to hurt from how tightly he had been gripping the door frame. "So...that means..."

**-If Red doesn't get up here and fix this soon, we're going to be defenseless, and the Decepticons will have access to _everything_.-**


	6. Chase

_'How do I keep ending up working with this mech?'_

"...and then there was that time when Sunstreaker was drunk off his aft and Sideswipe painted green stripes on him." Bluestreak grabbed the other end of the perimeter sensor's casing and lifted it with Wheeljack, settling it over the delicate equipment. "Sideswipe was in the medbay for a joor and a half after that."

"Huh." Wheeljack had finally, completely given up on trying to get the younger mech to be quiet. It was much easier to just pretend he was listening. "Right there. Don't let it move." He lowered himself against the platform the sensor sat on, turning onto his back so he could reach up inside the casing. Sparks fells down against him as he welded the structure in place. It was a bad position to be working in, but that's why he had a welding mask. And a pain tolerance the size of Iacon City.

"How long did you work in Etraum?" Bluestreak asked. His voice, muffled by the casing, echoed hollowly around Wheeljack.

"Longer than you've been alive, probably," the engineer said. He paused as the casing tilted slightly. "Hold it still!"

"Sorry." He could see Bluestreak's feet shift, and the casing returned to its proper alignment. "How old _are_ you, anyway?"

He returned to his welding. "Wouldn't you like to know."

"Aw, come on. At least give me an idea. As old as Ironhide?"

The inventor snorted. "Hardly."

"Okay so, older than me but not as old as Ironhide." A pause as the gunner thought about that. "That's not very helpful."

Wheeljack pushed himself out from under the casing, setting his hand against it to steady himself as he stood. "No, I don't suspect it would be."

"Are you always this difficult?"

"No."

Bluestreak frowned at him.

Wheeljack replied with a cocky grin as his mask retracted. "Well then," he said, changing the subject. "That should be the last of them for now." He tapped on the sensor's casing. "Let's just hope the Decepticons don't decide to take them out again before we get more supplies."

The gunner knelt to snap the lower panels into place around the casing. "We can only hope," he muttered.

-Blaster?- Wheeljack called over the comm lines.

-All day, every day. What's up?-

-Fixed the last perimeter sensor.-

-...yeah, there it is. Thanks.-

-We're coming in.-

-Do you mind waiting a bit?-

Wheeljack grumbled to himself. -What for?-

-Prowl called in not too long ago, said he was heading back. Should be here in about forty or fifty breems. It'd be nice to have someone out there to keep watch anyway, since the cameras are down.-

-Fine.-

Bluestreak was looking at him curiously. "What's wrong?"

"Blaster wants us to stay out here and watch for Prowl."

"Oh."

The engineer sighed tiredly. "You go on back. I'll take guard duty this time."

Amazingly, Bluestreak didn't speak for more than ten astroseconds. "No, I'll stay here too," he decided. "Two pairs of optics are better than one."

Wheeljack wouldn't admit it to him, but he was glad he'd have company. Truth be told, he didn't relish the thought of waiting out here for forty breems by himself. He sat down where he was on the platform, deciding it was as good of a place as any to act as a lookout. Bluestreak followed suit, and they sat in silence for several breems, the younger mech idly swinging his legs back and forth as they dangled over the edge of the platform.

"You know, you're not such a bad guy when you're not going out of your way to butt heads with everyone," Bluestreak commented innocently.

"Yet you're still sitting well out of arm's reach." To make his point, Wheeljack reached out to the youth, his hand coming nowhere close enough for him to touch Bluestreak's shoulder.

The gunner gave a nervous laugh. "Yeah well...don't read too much into that. I'm scared of anyone who's bigger than me. Which is at least half the mechs here, you know. Really, I'm not sure who's more scary, you or the Twins."

He wasn't sure whether he should feel proud or disgusted to be grouped with those two warriors.

"The Twins are bad because there's two of them, obviously, I mean that's what happens when you have a twin I guess. You're bad because you've caused more damage to Autobot property in the past orn than the Twins have in the entire past vorn..."

"I had a legitimate excuse for all that destruction."

"I suppose..." And with that, Bluestreak fell silent.

Wheeljack looked out beyond the outer rim of the base. He could see Iacon in the distance, that once proud city, home of peace, center of the Cybertronian empire. Its twisted spires still jutted into the sky as always, a silent testament to the Golden Age.

He had been to Iacon often in the past, although not so much once the war had started. He remembered it being a busy place once you got in past the outer limits, bustling with mechs of all descriptions and occupations. He remembered seeing everything from the small, fast minibots to the mechs from the first moon, made into giants thanks to the moon's relatively tiny gravitational force; he remembered the variation from the undergound mining 'bots to the airborne Seekers--once the guardians of Cybertron, now Megatron's most prized killing machines. Iacon was probably a completely different place now. He wasn't sure he wanted to find out _how_ different.

He glanced at Bluestreak. The youth was staring intently at his feet, appearing deep in thought. "A credit for your thoughts," Wheeljack said softly.

Bluestreak jumped visibly, his optics showing the briefest moment of panic and fear. Attempting to regain his composure, he looked at Wheeljack. "What?"

"What's on your mind?"

"Oh. I...um..." He looked down at his feet again. "Nothing. I mean...I was thinking about home," he said quietly.

"Where's that?"

The gunner shook his head. "You wouldn't know it. It was a small town."

"If you say so." _'Wait a moment..._' "...What do you mean, it _was_?" He really wished he hadn't asked that. It was obviously not something Bluestreak enjoyed talking about.

"'Cons destroyed it," Bluestreak mumbled. "All of it. I'm the only one left."

"I'm sorry." And he truly was. Etraum, though it had suffered horrible losses, was recovering, as Wheeljack had discovered through various sources. That was bad enough, losing what lives they did, and what knowledge died along with those mechs. But to lose _everything..._?

Bluestreak's head hung guiltily. "I...don't remember any of it. What the Decepticons did."

"Maybe that's a good thing."

"That's what everyone says..." He sounded irritated about that for some reason.

Wheeljack watched him for a while, intrigued by this more solemn side of the youngster. "Bluestreak...how old are you?"

"Thirty...four. Thiry-four vorns."

_'Primus, that young? He's only been a fully-upgraded mech for what, two vorns, tops? To have been through all that at his age...no wonder he's so..._off _sometimes.'_

Suddenly, Bluestreak's bouncy nature returned full-force. He smiled at the engineer. "So, I told you my age. Your turn!"

"Nice try, youngling." Wheeljack smirked.

"Wheeljack...come _on_!"

"I'm old enough to be your spark-sire, how 'bout that?"

"That doesn't help any more than..." He trailed off, looking across the base's expansive forefield. "You hear that?"

A low whirring, growing louder. An accompanying soft _woosh_ of air. The base's front gates snapping open, the energy barrier dissipating.

A small red and white hovercar streaked across the field, racing for the entrance.

Bluestreak jumped up. "That's Red Alert!"

"Where the slag does he think he's going?" -Blaster! Red Alert's heading for the front gate like a cyberhawk from the Pits!-

-Slag...I can't get the gates to close! He's locked me out!-

-We're going after him!- Wheeljack slid himself off the platform, hanging for a moment by one hand, then he dropped to the roof. A short jog to the edge, and he impulsively made the jump from the slightly-too-high roof the ground. He winced as he hit the bottom. _'Okay, legs not quite back to full functioning ability, gotta remember that.'_

Bluestreak landed beside him, a bit more gracefully. "Come on!" He lunged forward, twisting and folding himself into a sleeker gray version of Red's hovercar form. Then he was off, chasing down the security director.

_'Well...at least he's fast.'_ Wheeljack likewise dropped forward into his vehicle mode, twisting around halfway through so that, for all intents and purposes, he was laying on his back until he finished transforming. It wasn't the best arrangement, to be sure, but there was little he could do to change that. He threw his thrusters into full gear, racing after the two smaller mechs.

-Red, get back here!- he shouted to the security director.

Silence from the other end.

-Come on, Red,- Bluestreak coaxed. -You can't do this, we need you to fix the security grid.-

-Back off,- Red Alert growled dangerously. He slowed briefly, nearly causing Bluestreak, who was been right behind him, to smash into his rear. Bluestreak dodged to one side, pulling even with the security officer.

-This isn't funny Red, stop!- He nudged into Red Alert's side, attempting to turn him back to the base.

Red Alert responded with a vicious jerk towards Bluestreak. -I said _back off!_-

Wheeljack was too far away to help. He could only watch as they collided with a nasty crunch. Bluestreak was sent spinning away, one of his repulsor coils giving out, causing him to lilt to one side and drag his undercarriage along the ground. Red Alert, now trailing a thin line of smoke, continued on his mad way.

_'Slag it, Bluestreak.'_ Wheeljack veered away from Red's disappearing form, hurrying to the gunner. Not slowing as he neared, he transformed, flipping himself around to land on his feet next to Bluestreak. "You okay?"

-Yeah...I think so...- A small rev of his engine. -Kinda dragging though.-

"I see that."

-You should go after Red before you lose him.-

"What, and leave you alone outside the base?"

-The base isn't that far away...-

"Shut up." Wheeljack leaned down and lifted Bluestreak's sagging side off the ground. "This will just take a breem."

* * *

They were in the outskirts of Iacon before they finally caught sight of Red Alert again. Unfortunately, Red Alert also caught sight of them, and took off once more. It was difficult to track him--whatever he had done to hide himself from the base's security system was working on the two Autobots' scans as well. He was very good at throwing them off his trail even without that bit of stealth, and they almost lost him several times.

Wheeljack was beyond annoyed. He was tired of chasing Red through the back alleys of Outer Iacon, tired of having to give up a promising lead in order to wait for the injured Bluestreak to catch up, tired of not getting a chance to relax ever since joining the Autobots, just plain tired all over. He was close to just giving up on running down Red Alert. But at the same time, he didn't really want to return to the base empty-handed, especially if he'd have to contend with the over-protective Inferno.

-Fragging son of a glitch-whore,- he spat, turning down another alley. -I think he's finally given us the slip.-

-I'm sorry,- Bluestreak said softly as he followed.

-Just keep looking.- He quickly rounded a corner, and found himself nearly nose-to-nose with another hovercar.

He immediately threw his thrusters into reverse, banking as he tried to avoid a collision. _'Too close! Too close!'_ He released control of his thrusters, letting himself slide toward the other hovercar, who was also desparately maneuvering to avoid a crash. Wheeljack transformed mere marks away from the other Cybertronian, using his momentum to push himself over the low-slung vehicle. He barely cleared it, landing face-first on the roadway on the other side.

Bluestreak was not so lucky. He was halfway transformed when he ran into the other hovercar, yelping as they hit. Wheeljack could hear metal crunch and bend and snap.

"Ugh..." Wheeljack said into the ground. Carefully, he moved his arms under his body and pushed himself up. He felt sore from his rough landing, but nothing seemed to be seriously broken. His front side was scratched to the Pits though. He had a feeling the other two weren't so lucky.

He looked up to see a white and black mech disentangling himself from Bluestreak. "What are you doing out here, soldier?" he snapped. One of his wing-panels was hanging at an odd angle.

"'m sorry, Prowl," Bluestreak mumbled. He looked to have gotten the worse end of the collision, and he made no move to get up from where he lay.

"I would ask the same of you," Wheeljack said as he stood stiffly. "I thought you were supposed to be back at the base by now."

Prowl was frowning as he helped Bluestreak into a sitting position. "We were. But we fell under attack, so we split up."

"Decepticons got pissy that you stole their toys, huh?"

The lieutenant gave him a severe look. "Be careful who you refer to as 'toys', Wheeljack."

As if on cue, a blur of brown and silver dropped down from a bridge above, landing behind Prowl. It stood, lanky and all angles, dexterous claw-tipped fingers flexing, beaked mouth set in a scowl. "I am no _toy_," it hissed in a breathy voice.

Wheeljack was too surprised to come up with a snarky reply. He had never seen a Jhiasian Transformer before--few Cybertronians had--and this one was _crazy_-looking.

"I think we finally lost the Decepticons," Prowl said. "We _were_ heading back to headquarters when you so kindly decided to nearly end both of our lives just now."

"It's not like I plan these things," Wheeljack muttered, still fixated on the Jhiasian, who stared back with equal curiosity.

"What are you doing here, anyway? Who gave you permission to leave?"

"No one."

"We were following Red Alert," Bluestreak said.

"Ah, so he finally decided to show his face?" Prowl did not sound happy about that.

"Yeah. We tried to stop him, but he ran me off the road. Wheeljack repaired me and by that time, we had pretty much lost him."

"Hmm." The lieutenant stood, pulling Bluestreak with him. "Can you transform?"

The gunner winced. "I'd rather not."

"Well then, we have a long trip back before us."

"I am _not_ sitting in your hold again," the Jhiasian growled.

"As much as I dislike it as well, it's safer for you that way, Ambassador Kree."

A series of long, blade-like projections along the Jhiasian's neck lifted in a display of anger as he uttered a string of incomprehensible syllables.

And then he was bowled over a red and white mech who seemed to have come from out of nowhere.

"Red Alert!" Prowl jumped back in surpirse, his one good wing-panel twitching.

_'Something isn't right.'_ Wheeljack felt his own wing-blades rise in fear. He took a few steps closer to Prowl and Bluestreak.

Red Alert had Kree by the neck, his gun pointed at the brown mech's head as he kept the ambassador between himself and the Autobots. His sensor nodes were sparking erratically and his optics, clouded with a red film, the residue of coolant that still leaked into them, were flickering rapidly. The flickering alone was a bad sign. It meant he was either in the middle of a huge data transfer...or something wasn't connected correctly in his processor. Or both, considering the mech involved.

For a moment, no one spoke, too shocked by this new situation to know how to react.

"Red Alert," Prowl said softly, as non-threateningly as he could. "Let him go."

"No."

"What are you going to do with him?"

"Kill him." This was said with such conviction that Wheeljack found it hard to believe it was Red Alert who spoke.

"Why?" Prowl took a small step towards them.

The security director stepped back, pressing his gun into Kree's cheek. The Jhiasian let out a soft gasp. "To stop the Decepticons," Red said. "They can't get the space bridge codes if he's dead, now can they?"

"The codes will be just as safe when we get him back to the base," Prowl said in his most convincing voice.

Red snorted, glancing at Wheeljack.

_'Oh slag...what now?'_

"What did you do to the command console?" Red Alert demanded.

"I fixed it." The engineer furrowed his optic ridges, confused.

"It's been tampered with," Red hissed.

"Yes, by the Decepticons."

"Nothing is safe in there," the security director said, more to himself than the others. "Not the codes stored in the databanks, not the Autobots, nothing." He looked up at Wheeljack again, as if he blamed the engineer for this. "You're dangerous."

"That's what they say."

"Be quiet," Prowl whispered.

A dull thud. Kree yelped. Bluestreak shouted.

The world seemed to move in slow motion.

The ground beneath his feet suddenly wasn't there any more. He saw the road crack and break open, heard the scream of twisting metal, watched the other Autobots disappear into the fresh abyss, felt himself free-falling into darkness.

He must have been unconscious for a while. When he checked his chronometer, it indicated a few breems of missing time in his memory. Wheeljack groaned, opening his optics. The sky and city were far above him, visible through a large gaping hole. Judging by the distance between himself and the edge of the hole, he must have fallen nearly two levels into the city's underground.

He tried to move, but something heavy was pressing down on him. After a few tries, he found he couldn't move his arms or legs enough to put the proper leverage on whatever was pinning him in order to free himself. He was hopelessly stuck. -Prowl? Bluestreak?-

When they didn't answer, he ran a quick scan. Yes, they were down here with him, but both were offline. Red Alert was in the underground as well, although whether or not he was online was questionable.

There was something else down here too. Something big.

Decepticons.

"Blackout, where is the ambassador?"

Wheeljack recognized that voice. '_Soundwave...great._'

"Disappeared." A _crunch, crunch, crunch_ as this 'Blackout' stepped through the rubble. A very large mech came into the edge of Wheeljack's line of sight. "But he doesn't matter."

Soundwave entered the scene, looming over whatever Blackout had found. "Even better." He reached down, throwing aside a small beam, and lifted out Red Alert.

The security director was very much online. He twisted in Soundwave's grasp until he was able to aim at the Decepticon with his weapon. "Let go of me, slag heap!" He fired off a few rounds before he was roughly disarmed.

"I'm surprised your cassettes' little _mishap_ hasn't eaten him alive yet," Blackout sneered in an obvious attempt to anger the other Decepticon.

"It is of little consequence how sane he is or is not," Soundwave shot back. He clamped his free hand over the top of Red Alert's helm, his fingers wrapping around the smaller mech's head. "Either way, he still has access to Autobot files."

Wheeljack struggled vainly to free himself as Red Alert screamed. The security director's sensor nodes were sparking so constantly now that they seemed to be glowing like blue lightning. He jerked in Soundwave's immovable grip, his face twisted in horror and pain.

_'Slag it...what the frag is he doing to Red?'_

"Hurry, Soundwave," Blackout urged. "There are more Autobots approaching."

Soundwave didn't move or speak, just continued to hold onto Red Alert as if his life depended on it. Then, he raised his head. "I have what I need," he said simply. He tossed the now-limp Autobot aside.

"Let's _go_!" Blackout snapped.

The scrape and whine of metal against metal as the two Decepticons transformed and sped away from the area.

_'DAMN IT.'_ He knew he was wasting energy trying to escape, but he still wriggled underneath his trap. _'Just wait...wait until I get my hands on you again, Soundwave.'_

Someone was standing on the edge of the hole. "They're gone!"

"Don't bother with them, we need to get the others out of here." Someone dropped down into the underground.

Two more mechs followed. "Red! You awake?"

"Don't come near me!" Red Alert had obviously survived whatever Soundwave had done to him, but if the way he was shrieking at whoever had come down into the wreckage was anything to go by, he was far gone from any semblance of a stable state of mind. He fired his gun, the loud report echoing. "What--no! Let go!" Silence.

"Good thing I convinced Ratchet to let me carry sedative pellets," came Mirage's smooth voice.

"Is he out?"

"Not for long. But I have more pellets if he decides to wake up."

"Prowl? You in here?"

"He's out!" Wheeljack shouted, trying to draw their attention.

He heard the mechs running to him. Then Mirage's blue head came into his sight as the spy leaned over him. "What are you doing out here?"

"I _was_ chasing Red Alert. Now it seems I'm very well stuck, thank you."

"Stand back," said one of the other mechs. Wheeljack heard the high-pitched whine of something high-powered warming up. There was a tug on his armor, then the rubble pile that had been crushing him lifted slightly. "Can you get out?"

Wheeljack pushed himself back, wincing as his still-sore legs scraped on something. "Yeah, I'm out," he said after he was clear.

The rubble fell back down. On the other side of the pile was a red minibot, distorted in Wheeljack's vision due to a strong magnetic field that seemed to emanate from the mech himself.

"Come on, Windcharger," Mirage said. "I think Blue needs your skills." He and the other mech, whom Wheeljack didn't recognize, went to Prowl.

The engineer stood shakily, the hooked grips on either side of his feet engaging to prevent him from slipping on the rubble. "Have you seen Kree?"

"I'm up here." The Jhiasian peered over the edge of the hole. "Climbed out before the Decepticons regrouped."

"Nice one," Wheeljack called up to him. "Thanks for the help."

Kree replied with an angry-sounding series of staccato clicks, followed by "I'm not a warrior, _Autobot._"

"What happened in here?" Windcharger asked as he moved aside the fallen pieces of metal that had covered Bluestreak.

"The road was collapsed from underneath us," Wheeljack said as-a-matter-of-factly.

"Well yes, I figured that." The minibot crouched next to Bluestreak and tapped at the side of his head. "Hey Blue, wake up."

"Smokescreen, grab the other end of this...there." Mirage and the other Autobot carefully lifted a beam that had fallen across Prowl's chest.

"I don't get it," Smokescreen said. "They didn't capture the ambassador. They could have killed all of you before we had a chance to get here. Why retreat?"

"Because they found Red." Wheeljack looked over at the security officer's still, prone body.

"What do you mean?"

"I _mean_," the inventor said slowly, "I have a feeling we are completely and utterly fragged."


	7. Interlude I: The Sigil

This is more or less a side-story. It takes place after part 5, although I'm not exactly sure when. Some time before part 6 probably.

* * *

If there was one bad thing about choosing a faction in this war, it was the Sigil. Etched or burned into external plates, and sometimes covered with dye, every mech who joined the Autobot cause wore the symbol of that Face somewhere on his person in some form or another, the mark forever present as a scar on their metal bodies.

This was nothing surprising. The tradition of marking oneself to express allegiance, status, or employment was an old one, going as far back in Cybertronian cultural history as could be found, and most mechs bore at least a handful of small glyphs explaining their designation. The quickest glance at the symbols could tell almost the entirety of a mech's life story.

Ratchet's series of glyphs spoke of his position as the Chief Medical Officer of the Autobots; the older markings told of his previous employment at a prestigious hospital in Iacon, and of his involvement with the Council of Elders.

Sunstreaker's roughly-carved glyphs showed a hard life in Kaon's vicious gladiatorial rings, the high status he had held within that shadowy world, and the bond he shared with his twin Sideswipe.

Bluestreak, being a young mech, bore only two symbols: the Autobot insignia, and a small design accentuated with a mark indicating it was the name of a town.

Wheeljack was, in this arena, the odd mech out. He bore exactly zero glyphs.

Not that he hadn't had any chances to get one. He had just never done so. He could have had the the symbol that declared him as Chief Mechanical Engineer burned into his armor. But he had felt he had no need for it. Everyone in Etraum knew who he was and where to find him, and if they didn't it wasn't hard to find someone who did. Wearing the symbol seemed redundant to him.

And there was the little problem of actually having said symbol imprinted on one's body.

It wasn't that Wheeljack feared pain. He didn't. He had dealt with it enough times to just shrug it off and keep moving, even when it wasn't always the smart thing to do. He purposely dove into dangerous projects without a second thought to his safety, and often came out of them a little worse for the wear. He had gotten almost every part of his body blown off at some point or another. He had created and installed his guns himself. That had been a complete learning experience for him. He found out the hard way exactly what he _shouldn't_ do when installing new components on a mech. The pain alone that had resulted from that had kept him berth-ridden for three whole cycles. But he had lived, he had learned, and when he later made his cannon, the installation had been nearly painless.

But for some reason, the idea of having to endure the pain of getting a glyph set into his body did not sit well with him _at all_. Just thinking about having a blade or brand cut through sensitive dermal layering, enough to damage the self-healing function but not so far as to completely slice through the plate, was enough to make him cringe in terror.

So when Ratchet called him to the medbay one day, and he found the medic waiting there with one hand transformed into a white-hot carving tool, asking "Where do you want it?", Wheeljack backed out of that room as if he had just caught a glimpse of the damned Pits themselves, so fast that he slammed into the wall of the corridor behind him.

He knew he'd have to face this sooner or later--every single Autobot had the Sigil, just as every Decepticon had theirs. To not have it was as good as committing a major faux pas in your faction. He had, however, been hoping he could deal with this later. As in, much, _much_ later.

He shook his head, resonators flashing bright yellow as he spoke. "Nowhere. Get that thing away from me!"

Ratchet looked at him as if he was insane. "Get back here."

"No way. You are not touching me with that piece of slag!"

"You can come back inside and we can do this the easy way, or you can frag me off and we can do this the hard way. Your choice."

Wheeljack was backing down the hall to his lab. "How about let's not, and say we did?"

Ratchet stepped out of the medbay to watch him. "Stop acting like a sparkling. You're just making it harder for yourself, you know."

"I don't care." His hand fumbled at the control panel for the lab doors.

"You're worse than Bluestreak was," the medic grumbled. "You take on an entire wing of Seekers all by your lonesome, and you have no problem with blowing yourself up in order to stop Soundwave, but you're scared of a little brand?"

His fingers finally hit the right button, and the lab doors, which he had been leaning against, slid open. He tumbled backwards onto the floor, groaning as his head spun from the impact. When he opened his optics again, Ratchet was standing over him.

"Hold still, would you?"

With a yelp, Wheeljack scooted himself back across the floor, swatting Ratchet's brand-bearing hand away from him.

And with that, the CMO had had enough. "All right then. The hard way it is."

"What? Gonna take me out with one of those sedative pellets you gave Mirage?"

Ratchet shook his head. "Not worth it. This is a war, no telling when I might be able to restock supplies again."

Wheeljack could feel his spark quivering in its casing. "Then what, exactly, is the 'hard way'?"

Still keeping an eye on the engineer, Ratchet moved to the comm console on the wall and pressed a button. "Sideswipe. Sunstreaker. Meet me down in the lab."

He stared at the medic, mouth agape. "Not those two pit-slagging brutes!"

Ratchet cocked an optic ridge. "Hmm. You're right." He touched the panel again. "Ironhide, I need you too."

"_What?!_"

"Well, you made it quite clear back in Etraum that the Twins alone can't keep you down."

He could hear the dull thudding of the Twins' footsteps coming from the hallway outside the lab.

He jumped up and ran.

The Twins were having far too much fun with this game. They were _toying_ with him as he dodged their swipes, jeering at him, harassing him as they chasing him through the base. They gathered quite a crowd of onlookers as they raced down the hallways. Ironhide was in no mood to be running about and was simply waiting for a chance to strike.

Wheeljack evaded them quite well until his lack of familiarity with the base's layout caught up with him. He turned the wrong way, found himself blocked...

And was promptly pounced upon by a small contingent of Autobots.

Sideswipe got him from behind, his clawed fingers latching onto the edges of his armor. The red twin twisted, attempting to drag Wheeljack to the floor, but the engineer would have none of that. He jerked out of Sideswipe's grasp, only to find that Jazz had grabbed onto his left wing-blade, engaging the electromagnet in his right hand to prevent himself from being shaken off. Wheeljack spun around, trying to get at the small silver mech, to no avail. Sideswipe got back up and gripped his other wing-blade, preventing him from turning around any more.

Then Cliffjumper attacked. His balance now off, Wheeljack fell to the floor. But it took the addition of Inferno, Ironhide, and Sunstreaker to keep the frantic inventor down. He struggled wildly beneath the pile of mechs. Being squished was making him even more terrified than simply seeing Ratchet with the brand had.

"Slag, can anyone reach the comm console?" Ironhide grumbled.

**-I've got it,-** Blaster said through the intercom.

"Heh. Been watching?"

**-Of course. Damn, that was entertaining.-**

Wheeljack managed to kick Cliffjumper away. For a moment.

"Ratchet," Ironhide said. "We've got him down."

**-Good, now get him back up here.-**

"Why don't _you_ come down _here_?" the weapons specialist growled.

**-Because if he's going to be flailing around as much as I think he is, I want to be near my equipment in case I end up damaging something.-**

"Well that's just _great_!" Wheeljack shouted, hoping the intercom system could pick him up through the pile of Autobots on top of him. "You accidentally take out mechs' optics much when you do this?"

"Shut up," Ironhide said. "All right then, Autobots. Here's how we're going to do this." He proceeded to lay out a plan as to how they would get Wheeljack to the medbay without losing him again.

The plan involved him being carried, one limb held by each of the larger mechs, with Jazz and Cliffjumper holding onto his wing-blades to ensure that he wouldn't wriggle around so much that they would drop him.

Embarassing, perhaps. But he was more concerned with _where_ they were taking him than _how_.

Every step of the way, he struggled, jerking and twisting and giving the Autobots another demonstration of his amazing swearing skills. Though he couldn't break free of the iron grasps of four of the Autobots' strongest soldiers, his flailings still caused them to stumble every so often, turning their trek to the medbay into a horrifically slow crawl. He wasn't even sure exactly where they were in the base, and that was frightening to him. His view, what parts of it weren't blocked by the others, was of the ceiling, which looked pretty much the same throughout the base.

But he did notice when they passed through a set of doors. _'Oh Primus...Primus...no...'_

"Put him on the table there," Ratchet ordered.

They did. But in doing so, they also momentarily relaxed their hold on the engineer.

He wasted no time. He made it halfway off the table, one foot on the floor, before the Autobots could react. They spent a few more breems wrestling with him, some unfortunate medical equipment getting knocked around (much to Ratchet's dismay), until Wheeljack was on the table once more, this time restrained firmly.

"All this fuss over a stupid sigil," Sunstreaker said, grinning insanely. "I can't believe this."

Wheeljack glared at him. "You're the first one on my hit list when I get out of here, gold boy."

"Oooooh, I'm _so_ scared."

"Out of my way," Ratchet commanded.

It was only because he had trained himself to hear such sounds that he noticed the soft hiss of hot metal nearby, a sound similar to the noise his own welder made. He jerked against his captors. "Oh, slag no!"

"Calm down, Wheeljack," Jazz said, his smooth tones floating through the room. "It's not like this is going to kill you."

"No, but it--EEAAAAAAAAAAHH!"

* * *

He was back in 'his' corner of the rec room, moodily working on his third cube of high-grade.

_'Just when things were starting to look up, too.'_

He realized the cube in his hands was empty. _'Oh, slag. Did I drink it all already?'_ He tilted the cube. _'Yup. Damn. Not even feeling it in the slightest, either._

_'This is going to be a_ long _night.'_

He stood to get himself another cube, and was surprised when one was thrust in his face. Blinking, he looked up to see Ratchet standing in front of him. He stared at the medic for a while.

"Take it and sit down," Ratchet said in a low voice.

Wheeljack did so, hunching over the table in an effort to ignore the other mech. When it became obvious that Ratchet would have none of that, he gave a slight nod to the chair in front of him. "What's the occasion?" he growled.

"Does there have to be one?" The CMO slouched back in the indicated chair. "Your official acceptance as an Autobot, if you desire."

"Joy." He downed half of the cube in one go.

Ratchet watched him, his face expressionless. "Drink much back in Etraum?"

Wheeljack hissed as he slammed down his cube onto the table. "Do we have to talk about Etraum?"

The medic shrugged. "If you don't want to, fine."

They sat in silence for a while. Wheeljack absentmindedly ran a finger over the front edge of his helm; at the fore of the middle crest was an indented section that had not been present even the previous cycle. Though the pain from the brand that had seared into him was long gone, the Autobot insignia was not.

_'There's really no turning back now, is there?'_

"No, I didn't," the engineer finally admitted, in answer to Ratchet's earlier question.

"I wouldn't recommend going too far with it."

Wheeljack snorted. "Going to give me a lecture now, doctor?"

"No, just warning you to not make yourself pass out. We've got a few pranksters around here who just love to mess with overcharged mechs." The medic frowned. "I _really_ don't like dealing with the messes they make of their victims." The threat in that statement was very clear.

"I'll keep that in mind." He finished the cube.

"If you'll stop downing that high-grade like it was the last cube on Cybertron, I just might have something constructive for you to be doing instead. If you're not already too drunk to be around dangerous tools, that is."

He had to admit that sounded better than sitting here. "Unfortunately, I'm still as sober as can be. What do you have in mind?"

"I have a portable energon generator that I take out into the field in case someone needs an emergency transfusion and I don't have any extra energon left to give myself. It's a bit old though, probably doesn't run as efficiently as it should or could. Would you mind taking a look at it?"

Wheeljack eyed him suspiciously. "So the whole coming down to the rec room to grab a high-grade thing was a ruse to drag me off into doing small favors, huh?"

"You could say that." Ratchet smiled mysteriously.

"Can't say I've ever dealt with an energon generator before. Sounds interesting enough. I'll see what I can do."


	8. Wheeljack's Lab

As if the fact that the Decepticons were in contact with Jhias wasn't bad enough, fate was conspiring to make Ratchet's day worse.

He had just started his shift, _just_ set foot inside his medbay, when...

_BOOM_.

A shudder ran through the floor.

The wall on the right side of the medbay suddenly crumpled inwards.

Ratchet had been a battlefield medic long enough to not be unduly startled by things like this, but he still went tense, lowering himself into a protective stance.

First Aid peered out of his office, optics wide with surprise. "What was _that_?"

Ratchet shook his head. "No idea." He glanced at the new dent in his wall. "But I know exactly who to ask."

The two medics were shortly standing in front of the lab doors. Not entirely sure he wanted to know what could have caused such damage to the medbay, Ratchet nonetheless pushed a button on the key pad, opening the doors. He had to take a few steps back as a hazy black smoke rolled out into the hallway, obscuring his vision of the room beyond. First Aid crooned, expressing his wonder.

And then the shouting started. But it didn't come from the CMO.

"_Kreechakaaaa n'cren icch Hreertchak! Brrrt!_"

"It's not my fault you were standing right there!"

"_Iip'n ssr nak! Kr-kr-kr-neeka!_"

"Well at least you still have both hands."

Ratchet took a few steps into the lab, waving away the smoke that curled in the air around him. Slowly, the scene before him became clear.

Hanging from the ceiling not too far from the door, his left arm and leg tangled in wires, was Ambassador Kree. The Jhiasian made obscene gestures with his free hand as he chittered away in his native language. His multiple jaws clacked together viciously, his crest raised to its highest, as if he could not fully express his anger. He struggled against his bindings, bouncing up and down in the wires.

At the left side of the room, on the wall that served as the partition between the lab and the medbay, was a large dark smudge that looked suspiciously like a burn mark. Laying on the floor in front of it was Wheeljack, parts of his armor singed gray once more, smoke rising from his handless left arm. He winced as he pushed himself up to sit back against the wall, then he unsteadily got to his feet. Even from this distance, Ratchet could hear the engineer's vents whirring at full capacity as they tried to clear the smoke from his systems.

Wheeljack looked at his empty wrist, turning his arm this way and that as he examined it. Then he let out a sigh. "This is going to push things back a bit." The edges of his vocal resonators were dulled by gray char, partially obscuring their normally bright flashing.

"I'll say it will," Ratchet snarled. "What. The. _Slag_. Happened?"

"_Ak'n BROT,_" Kree snapped, glaring at the once-white mech on the far side of the room.

"I figured out what not to do to artillery shells." Wheeljack gave a small shrug.

"What in Primus' name were you doing with artillery shells _right next to my medbay_?" _'Of all the_ stupidest places _to be working with active weapons, he has to chose the stupidest one of all!'_

"Ironhide was wondering if they could be retrofit with cryo needles," the engineer said, as if that should be obvious. "They'd work better against Seekers that way."

"I think you've made it very clear they _can't_ be."

"No, they can." Wheeljack walked over to one of the tables, where a few smoldering pieces of what probably was once an artillery shell sat. "I've just found one way they can't work. Still leaves lots of ways they _could_..."

"And you almost killed the ambassador _why_, exactly?" Ratchet was struggling to not just strangle Wheeljack right then and there. Kree was no longer in Iacon, but that didn't mean he wasn't still a high-ranking individual whose life was almost as valued as the Prime's.

"He was giving me advice on how to make the shells work better against coneheads."

"_Keeeesa. Hreertchak, crat n'oopt._" Kree pointed at something below him. "I _told_ you not to mess with the emitters. The alignment was fine as it was. But would you listen to me? No."

Wheeljack glanced up from the remnants of the shell. "What would you know about weapons? Who's the engineer here, Kree?"

"You, of course. Engineers can't follow instructions."

"I don't need instructions."

_'Primus above, help me.'_ Ratchet hid his face with his hand before the overwhelming urge to hurt something got the better of him. "First Aid," he said with as much forced calm as he could muster. "Get the ambassador down. Make sure he's not injured." Then, holding his cold facade in place as best he could, he stalked over to his unfortunate victim.

Wheeljack was once again poking thoughtfully at the pieces of the shell with his remaining hand. He jerked in pain as the CMO grabbed his left arm. "_OW_, slaggit!"

"You had better know where your hand got to, because if I have to make you a new one, you'll wish you had never been created," Ratchet growled.

"Um..." Wheeljack looked around. "It's probably time I got a new one anyway." He pulled his arm out of Ratchet's grasp. "But later. I've got an idea on how--"

Ratchet took hold of his arm again. "_Now_. I may not be feeling so generous later."

Wheeljack narrowed his optics, jerking his arm back. "I'm busy."

"No you're not." The CMO leaned forward, as imposingly as he could. Which was pretty imposing; even though Wheeljack was over a head taller than Ratchet, the medic had had plenty of practice being ominous at larger mechs over the vorns. He was good at it now. "Don't make me do this the hard way," he said in a low voice. Then he reached up and flicked the front of the middle crest on Wheeljack's helm. Right on his newly-carved Autobot insignia.

Wheeljack went stiff.

Ratchet smirked.

"What's going on in here?" Inferno peeked into the lab, squinting against the smoke that still lingered in the air. "Felt it all the way in the rec room."

"It's under control," Ratchet replied.

"Red wants to know."

Ratchet turned to the large mech, frowning. "What's he doing back on duty?"

"Oh, he's not."

Ratchet sighed. _'I suppose I should be glad he's back to his nosy self again. Let's just hope he stays that way this time.'_ "Tell him to ask Blaster for a report some time."

Inferno smirked knowingly, then glanced at First Aid, who was standing on a bench as he tried to free the ambassador. "You um...need any help there?"

"That would be nice," the junior medic said, relief in his voice.

Wheeljack was busy looking at the shell fragments again. "Gonna have to ask Ironhide for another one," he muttered.

Ratchet tugged on his arm, dragging him away from the table. "Ask later. Right now you get to experience what the Twins so aptly call 'a trip to the Pits and back'."

The engineer protested softly as he stumbled backwards, his vocal resonators flashing a weak blue before he silently submitted to his fate.

* * *

Wheeljack thought he had seen the extent of Ratchet's rage during his previous visits to the medbay.

He was wrong. The Twins had been right about the medbay being like a trip to the Pits.

Nevertheless, he decided to ignore Ratchet's advice against using his newly-repaired hand so soon and was back in the lab the moment he was released from the medbay. He silently surveyed the damage, fingers flexing as he rubbed his wrist. _'Hmm. I've done worse.'_ He pondered what part of the room he should start repairing first. Ironhide, after hearing what had happened, had refused to allow the engineer access to another artillery shell, at least until the weapons specialist had calmed down enough to not want to rend Wheeljack limb from limb. So he didn't have much else to do right now besides put the lab back together.

"It's not so bad now that it's not smoky any more." From out of nowhere, Kree walked up to the lab and peered in.

"No, it isn't," Wheeljack agreed. "Grapple said he'd fix the wall. I've just got to get the cryo needles out..." He craned his neck, looking up at the ceiling, which was peppered with the deadly slivers of metal, where it hadn't been blown clear away. The far wall also had a nice spray of needles across it. _'Primus...I didn't realize they had come that close to hitting Kree. No wonder Ratchet was so mad.'_

The ceiling was, unfortunately, about twice as high as Wheeljack could reach. He walked into the lab, determination in his steps, and pulled a table across the floor until it was beneath the main collection of needles. He was about to climb up on it when when Kree bounded in, jumping onto the table, and then up into the hole in the ceiling. He could hear the Jhiasian scraping around in there; thankfully, he was light enough that the ceiling panels held his weight easily.

"I'll push them out," he called down to Wheeljack, who was still staring up at the hole in surprise.

"You sure?"

"Of course. It's this or sit around doing nothing. There's not much else an ambassador can do around here."

"All right. Just...don't cut yourself. Cryo fluid is nasty."

Kree clicked to himself, as if the engineer had stated something that even sparklings would know. The first needle wiggled, then fell from its place in the ceiling. "Such an inelegant way to go about getting rid of Seekers," the ambassador said.

Wheeljack picked up the needles as they fell, careful to avoid them as they were coming down. "And you know a better way?"

"My race has been at war with the coneheads since before Optimus was Prime."

"That long, huh?" the engineer muttered. He set a handful cryo needles on the table, arranging them to point in the same direction, away from the edge so he wouldn't accidentally poke himself with them. _'At least these are still intact. This place would be a slagging mess if they had all broken.'_

"In my culture, it is a rite of passage to assist in taking down a conehead without weapons."

Wheeljack looked up at the ceiling again. "You can stop Seekers without weapons?" He imagined Kree--tall as the average Cybertronian, but slight and non-threatening--tackling one of those massive war machines. Surely someone as lightweight as him couldn't perform such a feat as facing down a Seeker without weapons. Even the Twins couldn't pull that off, no matter how much they liked to think otherwise.

"When we hunt in groups, yes."

"But...how?" He couldn't imagine how many of the slim Transformers it would take to confront a conehead.

"One team grounds the Seeker. The trouble then is keeping it down, and avoiding its wingmates, which is why we..." Kree suddenly poked his head out of the hole in the ceiling. "Why do you want to know?"

"Just curious." The engineer looked at the pile of cryo needles on the table, his mind suddenly whirling with thoughts. Ever since the war had started, the Seekers had been the single biggest threat to the Autobots. For countless generations before, the Seekers had served to protect Cybertron, so no measure had ever been taken to create something that could _stop_ them. It had never been situation that one would even think to consider. Now, it was almost a race against time to find something that could halt the aggressive mechs. Wheeljack had simply gotten lucky when he decided to make his shock blast cannon and solar grenades, but even those weapons, as powerful as they were, could only do so much.

Yet somehow, the Jhiasians managed to do it without any weapons at all, if what Kree said was true.

_'They're such small mechs...that's almost unbelievable. But what if they're on to something? What if we've been going about this 'stop the Seekers' business wrong the whole time? What if it's not weapons we need to be worrying with, but mechs?'_ That idea made him stop in the middle of picking up another batch of needles. _'Make a new kind of battle mech to specifically combat those flying death machines...'_ And as he thought that, he immediately knew why it hadn't been attempted: creating such specialized fully-sentient mechs was extremely difficult. That was why only one such artificially-created race existed--the Seekers. The first Seekers had simply been drones, and it had taken generations before enough programming and construction errors had been worked out of the self-conscious variety for them to be unleashed upon the world. Even countless millenia later, the base programming of the aerial soldiers was often found to be riddled with problems that sometimes caused horrific mental instabilities.

No, it was not an easy task to just up and create a new race of Transformer.

"You're thinking again." Kree's voice cut in on his musings.

"I'm always thinking."

The ambassador snort-whistled. "I doubt that." He disappeared into the ceiling once more. A few moments later, a shower of needles fell to the floor.

_'I wonder if it could be done though, creating a mech that could stop a Seeker. Not a _sentient_ mech, of course, there's no chance on Cybertron that would ever work out before the war ended. It'd just be a waste of effort and supplies. But what if a drone could--OW!'_ He flinched as a sudden sharp pain shot through his right arm. He looked at it, fearing the worst. Sure enough, sunk deeply enough in his forearm to have penetrated the armor was a single slim cryo needle.

_'Slag.'_

He hit the floor.

* * *

He woke up dizzy, 'panting' as his air intakes stopped and started irregularly, feeling chilled to his very core. The cold was making everything run slowly. Even his thoughts were sluggish.

"Two visits to the medbay in one shift, that's got to be a new record."

"This is worthy of recognition?"

"Who the _slag_ gave this glitch permission to work with weapons?"

He turned on his optics, only to find that his vision was spinning nauseatingly.

"_Eeka. Nirr hreem Kreechaka._"

"It's not your fault the slagger has a death wish."

With a groan, he raised his hand and shakily ran it over his face. _'Oh Primus...I feel like_ slag_... '  
_

"Happy day, he's awake."

"Can you sit up, Wheeljack?"

He had no idea who was talking to him--probably Ratchet, or was it First Aid? It was hard to tell. Thinking hurt too much. But he tried to sit up, weakly pushing away the hands that reached out to help him, only to welcome their assistance moments later when he nearly fell over.

_'Oooooh slag...no...let me lay back down...'_ He leaned back, grateful to find something there--a wall?--to sit against. Moaning, he once again covered his pained optics with a hand as he trembled all over.

"First Aid, up the thermal generator a bit."

He realized that his chassis was open, and tubes of various descriptions were sticking out of his torso. He shuddered. "Get those things out of me," he slurred.

"I will take them out when I'm very well ready to," Ratchet replied sharply.

"Get them _out_."

"Not a chance. Cryo fluid's nothing to take lightly, Wheeljack, and neither is flushing it out of your system." The CMO grabbed Wheeljack's hand as the engineer tried to bat the tubes away. "If you even _think_ about pulling them out yourself, rest assured that you are going to be in here _far_ longer than either of us wants. You don't want that."

"No..."

"Good lad. Now shut your vocalizer for the next thirty breems and we can keep this as painless as possible."

* * *

By the end of the cycle, Wheeljack had not only gotten himself banned from the weapons storeroom, but also from his own lab, and from any contact with Ambassador Kree.

_''Until further notice', my aft.'_ He sat in the rec room, elbows on a table as he pressed his forehead into his hands. He was, surprisingly enough, without a cube of high-grade nearby. He still felt horribly ill from the cryo needle, and wasn't sure mixing high-grade with that would be a good idea. _'Slag...oh slag...I think if I move, I'm going to pass out.'_

"Wheeljack?"

"Go _away_, Bluestreak," he mumbled into his hands.

"You okay?"

"No. Primus...just leave me alone." His mind was starting to spin again. It was not a pleasant experience.

"Come on, Blue. Leave the hapless glitch alone."

"You too, Sideswipe." _'This cycle just keeps getting worse...'_

He heard the red twin pull back one of the chairs and sit in it. "What, did the poor engineer have one too many cubes? It's only the start of eighth shift! Bad way to start the night." He could practically hear Sideswipe's cocky grin in those words.

"Slag off."

Sideswipe leaned across the table and poked him in the arm. His right arm. Which was still very, _very_ sore. "I thought you were better than that."

Wheeljack ground his jaw plates together. "Don't touch me."

"What, like this?" He poked the engineer again.

"Primus, I swear..." He shuddered as he drew air into his vents.

"Take it easy, Sides. He stuck himself with a cryo needle."

"Wow...even you aren't that masochistic, Sunny."

"It was an accident," Wheeljack muttered. He gave up on holding himself up and just lay his head down on the table, his wing-blades sagging pitifully.

"Need someone to carry you back to your berth?" He couldn't tell whether or not Sideswipe was being serious.

"Just leave me the frag alone."

"Hmph. Fine." Sideswipe stood. But he didn't leave. Through the fuzzy sickness that clouded his mind, Wheeljack got the distinct impression that the red twin was doing something to his wing-blades. "Have a good recharge, Wheeljack," Sideswipe mockingly called to him as he walked away.

"I don't know what you did," the engineer mumbled, "but you will pay for it when I can move again."

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, head down, but he had the odd feeling that he was drifting in and out of consciousness again. _'Slag...cryo fluid really doesn't agree with me, does it? Should call Ratchet...'_ But he didn't. Laying there on the table sounded like a much better option.

* * *

_"Wheeljack, I swear, if you don't toss back that shot right now..."_

_He looked down at the small cube in his hand, gently swirling its contents. He wasn't one to drink the ultra-concentrated stuff like this, and he wasn't sure he wanted to start now. No matter how good it was supposed to be._

_"Come on, you're down here, might as well," urged Blaze._

_Wheeljack glanced at his intern. "Someone's got to make sure you three glitches don't drive yourself off the roadways tonight when we're through here."_

_Blaze smiled guiltily._

_"Hey, you promised..." Greenstar started. "Just this once."_

_He sighed. "I'm going to regret this."_

_The drink was a lot stronger than he had anticipated._

_The last thing he remembered clearly was his other intern, the femme Silvershot, laughing about getting her boss drunk so that he couldn't rant at them for being in the same state tomorrow._

_He had woken up some time later in his own berth. How he had gotten into his home, or who had brought him there, he didn't know. But someone had stuck a note on his personal computer saying that the next time he got that drunk, they weren't going to be the one explaining to the on-call medic how he got combic acid in his manifolds again._

_What made it worse was that he had no idea what they were talking about, and nobody ever explained it to him when he asked..._

_'Slag...how much did I have this time?'_

It took a few tries, but he finally remembered that he _hadn't_ been drinking. He was in the Autobot military base, not in Etraum after what he could only assume had been a very entertaining night at Maccadam's.

Someone had taken him back to his quarters. He hadn't realized he had been that bad off in the rec room. Experimentally, he sat up in his berth. Though he was immediately hit with a wave of dizziness, it dulled enough that he didn't feel the urge to lay back down. He slowly swung his legs over the side of his berth, squaring his feet against the cool floor, and stood. He wobbled briefly, but his vertigo did not return with the force that he had been experiencing before.

_'Thank Primus.'_

Someone was querying him on his internal comm lines, asking for permission to speak. -What?- His processor throbbed with the effort of keeping the line open.

-Oh, you're awake finally.- First Aid sounded surprised by this. -Ratchet wanted you to stop by the medbay. He thinks there may still be a bit of the cryo needle in you.-

_'That would explain why I still feel sick.'_ He carefully made his way to the door. -He couldn't come down here to check it out?-

-He's not on the base at the moment.-

-Okay, so _you_ couldn't come down here?-

-I figured you could use the rest. Besides, personal quarters have bad lighting and not enough room for medical procedures.-

-Uh-huh.-

-What? You can ask Ratchet, he'll tell you the same thing.-

-Right. I'll be up there in a bit.-

He had to keep his hand on the wall to steady himself most of the way to the medbay. Though he didn't feel like he was going to pass out at any moment any more, he still tilted concerningly to one side, and he wasn't so sure he'd be able to get back up if he _did_ fall over.

He passed few Autobots in the hallways. It struck him as odd--according to his chronometer, it was the end of the ninth shift. The base should be pretty busy at this time of the cycle. Then again, he was glad he didn't have to contend with an audience. He liked being around others, but there were some times when he just didn't want to deal with it.

He made it to the medbay without incident, although the trip took him far longer than it normally would have. First Aid beckoned for him to enter, and he took a seat on the nearest table. With a few deft moves, the medic had pulled back a piece of armor on Wheeljack's right forearm, and the surrounding plates folded back accordingly. The medic studied the internal structures intently.

"How did...who..." For some reason, Wheeljack couldn't complete his question. He was more exhausted from his trek than he had realized.

"Sideswipe dragged you back to your quarters," First Aid said off-handedly.

"Sideswipe?"

"He called up here saying he did, anyway. Seeing as he's one of the few mechs here who's big enough do that, I see no reason to doubt him. He said you weren't looking too well in the rec room." He glanced up at the engineer. "He did mention something about lights as well. You'll want to check your wing panels."

"What...?" Wheeljack turned his head as far as he could without having his vision spin, raising his drooping wing-blades so he could look at them. Sure enough, on the tip of his right wing-blade was glued a single small portable light globe. "What the _frag_," he muttered in a low voice.

First Aid was chuckling to himself. "You're not the first one he's done that to. Luckily for you, there looks to be only one on each wing. And you don't have to deal with Ratchet. I'll get the solvent when I'm through here."

"That bastard has no pity for the injured, does he?"

"You think that's bad? Don't ever get drunk at a holiday function. He pulls out the big guns then. Figuratively speaking, of course." First Aid's left hand was suddenly transforming into some tool or another. "Found it. Hold still or I might push it deeper." He reached into Wheeljack's arm and grabbed something with his tool-hand.

Wheeljack jerked as the medic tugged a nearly microscopic sliver of the cryo needle free. Immediately, warm energon welled up from the puncture wound.

"Ah...no wonder you were so out of it. Stuck right in the port of your energon line here." The medic quickly sealed the injury and snapped the armor back into place. "You should be fine. It may take a quarter cycle or so for all the cryo fluid to get filtered from your systems, but you shouldn't need any outside assistance for that."

"Thanks." He flexed his arm carefully. "So...where is everyone?"

First Aid was heading off to one of the storage cabinets. "Decepticons attacked one of our allied cities. Four units got sent out to deal with them, but honestly I'm not sure they got there in time." He shifted some of the items around in the cabinet until he found the bottle he had been searching for. When he faced Wheeljack again, his expression was grim. "I have a feeling the medbay's going to be very busy shortly."

Wheeljack said nothing in reply as he took the offered solvent. _'Like Etraum...slag, how much more of Cybertron will suffer because of Megatron and this war?'_

Thanks to the position of the lighting globes to his wings, it was nearly impossible for the engineer to reach them, no matter which way he turned or what angle he held his wing-blades at. "The little glitch...he knows where to put these things to annoy a mech the most, doesn't he?"

"He's had lots of practice."

He also had access to some very strong glue, as the two found out. After nearly thirty breems of alternately adding solvent and chipping away at the rock-hard glue, the globe popped free, of course leaving the rest of the glue behind on Wheeljack's wing-blade. It took another ten breems to get _that_ cleaned off, and then they tackled the other one. By the time they had finished dealing that one as well, even First Aid was muttering curses against the red warrior.

"Think it's time Prowl ordered another room inspection for Sideswipe," the medic grumbled to himself as he replaced the nearly-empty solvent bottle in the storage cabinet. "That glue can't be legal. And he's probably got another stash of high-grade hidden away again... Slagger never learns..."

As if to assure himself that his body was back to normal, Wheeljack raised and lowered his wing-blades several times. _'If he_ ever _pulls this on me again, I will_ kill _him.'_

And then the medbay doors suddenly burst open. Ratchet charged in, his armor scuffed and worn, carrying a small but sturdily-built green mech in his arms. "_Get out of the way!_"

Wheeljack almost fell off of the table. He stumbled backwards as he dodged the frantic CMO, until he felt a cold wall against his back side. Ratchet was utterly ignoring him. He set the green mech on the table where Wheeljack had previously been sitting. His hands flew as he pulled off pieces of the mech's armor, and shimmering blue energon slowly leaked onto the floor, pooling around Ratchet's broad feet.

First Aid was by his side in an instant. "Casualty report?"

"None of ours, yet. But the local militia was hit hard. It's going to be a long night. Get to the north hangar, they need help transporting the wounded."

The junior medic beckoned to Wheeljack as he raced out of the medbay. The engineer followed, although at a slower pace--his systems still didn't agree with rapid movement yet. They had to swerve to avoid a small party of Autobots that was making its way up to the medbay. Some of the soldiers were in better condition than others, but the mechs they carried--some of the local militia Ratchet had mentioned, Wheeljack figured--were barely alive.

The hangar was full of activity. Autobots were pulling wounded mechs out of the shuttle that sat there. Some were still able to walk, others...not so much. Wheeljack didn't even have a chance to truly register the scene before him, the burned and slashed armor, the leaking energon and lubricant and coolant, the missing limbs, before First Aid directed him into the shuttle.

Wheeljack was surprised to find Bluestreak in there. Though unharmed, the gunner was muttering madly to himself as he helped First Aid lift a fairly large black mech. It was obvious the two smaller Autobots were having trouble with the stranger's bulk. The engineer stepped forward. "Here...I'll take him."

"You sure?" First Aid glanced at him.

He scowled back, and the medic helped him get the black mech into his arms. Wheeljack shifted the mech as he stood, immediately regretting the movement as both of his arms sent shocks of pain through him. _'Slag, I just_ had _to injure both arms today, didn't I?'_ He carefully maneuvered down the shuttle's ramp with his load.

"Do you require help?"

He glanced up to see a red mech standing at the bottom of the ramp. His right arm hung limply by his side, energon oozing from a nasty-looking gash near his shoulder. "You think you still have the strength?" the engineer asked.

"I'm still standing, am I not?" the mech replied nonchalantly. He grabbed the ridge of metal that ran across the back of the black mech's shoulders, lifting some of the weight from Wheeljack's sore arms.

"This way," the inventor said as he started back across the hangar.

"Are you a medic?"

"Slag no. I was just around." The black mech was already feeling heavy to him. His shifted his hold again, wincing.

"What are your duties here, then?"

"You always try to make small talk when dealing with emergencies?" Wheeljack said sharply.

The red mech was silent for a beat. "I'd rather make small talk than hear nothing. Or _them_." He motioned to the black mech. "But if that is not agreeable with you, I will refrain from doing so."

Wheeljack only grunted in response. He had to admit that hearing the cries of the wounded was nothing pleasant, but for some reason carrying on a conversation in this situation didn't sit well with him either.

By the time they reached the medbay, the room was busy as First Aid had predicted, and most of the tables were full, occupied by the injured. Ratchet moved back and forth between the hurt mechs, patching up the most serious injuries, for now ignoring those mechs who were still able to stand and therefore weren't about to go offline. The CMO looked up when Wheeljack and his partner entered. He took one look at the black mech they carried and pointed at one of the free tables. "There."

After setting the mech down, Wheeljack could feel him arms trembling from being overworked so soon after repairs. He opened and closed his hands a few times, frowning when they buzzed with numbness.

"You." Ratchet was addressing the red mech. "Wait over there. Wheeljack, stop taking up space in my medbay."

"You're welcome for the assistance," the engineer muttered as he walked out of the room.

Coming up the hall were Bluestreak and First Aid, helping a mech who had lost one of his legs. Behind them was Inferno, carrying an unconscious Mirage.

_'Slag, there's not going to be enough room for all of them in the medbay.'_ He stood there for a moment, numbly watching the Autobots approach. Then he turned and sprinted the short distance to his lab. His vision was wheeling again from his exertions, but he still somehow managed to get the doors open. He hurried to the tables, pushing aside the boxes of junk that still covered them, carefully--very carefully--removing the pile of cryo needles that had been neatly stacked one one of the clean tables. The lab was hardly a sterile medbay, but it would have to do. He ran back to the entry and poked his head out. "Inferno! In here!"

Not even two breems later, Inferno's charge had been joined by another mech Wheeljack didn't recognize, and Bluestreak, who had apparently been harboring some hidden internal injury that had suddenly decided to incapacitate the youth.

"Everyone, _out_." Ratchet swept into the lab, looking over the three unconscious mechs. Those who could obey hurried out of the lab as quickly as they could. "Primus, so many...why?" Ratchet said to himself. This was followed by a brief silence. "Wheeljack."

The engineer was just outside the lab; he turned slightly to look back at the CMO. "Yeah?"

"You have a welder, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Get over here."

Wheeljack joined Ratchet at Bluestreak's side. The medic had pulled open the gunner's armor, exposing what could only be properly termed a slagging mess.

"How fine is your welder?"

"Fine enough to work with neural circuits." He knew this only because of his experience with installing his weapons. Neural circuitry was not something mechanical engineers normally dealt with.

"Good. You see this?" Ratchet pointed at one of the energon lines in Bluestreak's torso. Wheeljack could just make out a tiny gash or crack running perpendicular to the direction of the tube that slowly but constantly released a small stream of energon. "If you see one, weld it closed. If the cut runs parallel to the line, make sure the weld is flexible, otherwise it'll just crack open again when he next moves, and it'll be even worse than it is now. And for Primus' sake, don't accidentally puncture the line with your welder."

Wheeljack shook his head, suddenly feeling sick at the sight of Bluestreak's injuries. "Why me?" he whispered.

"Because you have a welder and know how to use it. Now get to work."

_'Primus...not Bluestreak...'_

"Wheeljack!"

He didn't remember activating his welder, but there it was, crackling with heat, its tip glowing white.

"Do I need to smack your processor into compliance? These mechs are _dying_!"

"Y...yes, sir..."

* * *

He lost track of time. He had hit the point of mental and physical exhaustion so long ago, but he had somehow kept moving, kept tailing Ratchet as the CMO handed small tasks off to him so he and First Aid could deal with the more serious repairs. He didn't remember exactly what he did during that time, how many mechs he had his hands in, how many more had come into the medbay that night...

All he knew was that some time later, he was sitting alone on his berth, the lights in his quarters at a low level, silence all around him. He just sat there, unmoving, no longer feeling the pain from his earlier injuries, no longer paying heed to the occasional bouts of vertigo he still suffered through. He knew he was a mess, covered in bodily fluids that were not his, but he couldn't bring himself to stand up and walk to the washracks. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Not that another mech's energon coated his arms. Not that every so often, a small drop of the life-giving fluid would fall onto his floor. Nothing.

He was an engineer and an Autobot soldier. He didn't have a problem with blasting his enemies to the Pits. He didn't have a problem when they did the same to him.

But so many that had come into the medbay had not been soldiers. They had just been mechs who were trying to protect themselves and their homes. They had no experience with battles, and they had suffered greatly because of it. And he had been there, putting them back together despite the fact that many of them were too far gone for it to be of any use...despite the fact that most of them would be throwing themselves right back into battle as soon as they could walk again.

And Bluestreak...he was so young...

How did Ratchet do it?

He looked at his hands, slick with dulled blue energon, interspersed with splatters of clear-yellow lubricant; the reaction between the two liquids turned them deep pink in the places where they met.

_'Primus...what am I doing here?'_

He slowly scooted back on his berth until he was backed into the corner of the walls. He drew his knees to his chest, resting his forehead on them as he trembled.

A nightmare-filled recharge forced by exhaustion was a long time in coming.


	9. The Trouble With Seekers

I'm looking at the possibility of making a Flash movie based on this story. If anyone might be interested in collaborating on this (I need all sorts of help, not just in the animating department!), please check out the link on my profile page!

I'd like to thank the members of the LJ community tf2007fun who volunteered to beta this for me.

* * *

It had been a good cycle.

He had _finally_ gotten to beat the slag out of some 'Cons after orns of silence on the battlefront. And not just pick them off from a distance with his cannon, either. No, he had been able to whip out the long blades in his forearms and tear into Decepticon hide like he hadn't in so very long indeed. Cutting and crushing and feeling armor bend and snap in his grasp and energon bubbling up against his claws...every last dirty trick he could come up with, he used. And he had _liked_ it.

Yes, it had been a good cycle.

He hadn't gotten much of a chance to repair or clean himself afterwards before being sent on guard duty with Ironhide and the others, but that was forgivable. He had the time now. And since he hadn't suffered anything so serious that he and Sunny couldn't patch it up themselves, that only left getting his sleek red and black and white armor shining once more. Not that he was as impossibly vain as his brother. Slag no, nobody could beat Sunstreaker when it came to that. But getting himself looking good again was still a priority. After slagging Decepticons, of course.

The other Autobots often compared the Twins to Seekers, both in terms of their aggression and their obsession with cleanliness. At least the Seekers had a legitimate excuse for vanity, they said. Minor imperfections in one's armor could lead to drag in the air, and that simply wouldn't do. The Twins' excuse? They were just a couple of bastards intent on impressing femmes, of course.

It was partially true, Sideswipe had to admit. But the full truth was something far deeper and more terrifying than he cared to talk about. Horrible memories of his and Sunstreaker's earliest joors in Kaon that the Autobots had no business knowing about.

And there was of course the undeniable truth that he was a damn good-looking mech, and he had to make the most of it.

He smiled to himself as he walked down the hallway to the washracks. Being a mere soldier, he didn't have his own washrack like he did back in Kaon. But he didn't mind the communal area, really, as it meant Sunstreaker could be with him. Despite the constant urge to turn everything into a one-upmanship contest when they were together, Sideswipe would rather endure those spats than be apart from his brother, even for a short time.

He felt hard claws rake across the back of his head as Sunstreaker swatted him. "Stop skipping around like an overcharged youngling," he growled in his low voice.

Sideswipe rubbed his head, not feeling any scratch marks from his twin's attack. Not that he had been expecting any. "I'm not skipping around," he whined.

"You looked too happy to just be walking. Therefore, skipping."

"Hey, I'm entitled to have my good days."

"Not when you're making me look like an idiot for having you as a brother." Though Sunstreaker was frowning, the way his blue optics glinted as he looked at his brother sent a very clear message that he was quite amused at Sideswipe's light mood, if somewhat annoyed by it. But then, he was always annoyed at something.

"Slag. Every time I'm feeling good, you have to be having a bad day."

"I'm not having a bad day. Quite the contrary, actually."

"Yeah, well you certainly aren't acting like it."

"Because you're behaving like a glitching sparkling."

"You're just jealous because I slagged more 'Cons than you did." And there it was. _'Ha, got to it first! Let the brotherly conflict begin!'_

"You did not." The amusement was gone from Sunstreaker's optics now. To him, sibling rivalry was very serious business.

It was to Sideswipe as well. "I did so!" The red twin held up his hand, counting off on his fingers. "There was that annoying little red one, and that minibot, and that fragging Seeker..."

"That Seeker was mine, glitch-head."

"Was not."

"Was too."

They scowled at each other for a moment.

"He was mine," the golden warrior growled dangerously, daring his brother to push the matter. His fingers twitched briefly into a fist, the last warning one ever received before Sunstreaker started doing damage.

"Primus, Sunny," Sideswipe said, lowering his hand. "You really need to calm down. We should like...go to Iacon and find you a femme or something. How long has it been since you got--" With a sound that was half giggle, half yelp, he skipped to one side to avoid his brother's claws, which were coming at him with much more force than they had previously. He lashed out in retaliation, but Sunstreaker caught his wrist.

"Scratch me and _die_."

Sideswipe snickered as he wrenched his arm free. "You _really_ need to find yourself a femme." He ducked into the washroom before his brother had a chance to strike again.

He could hear several of the faucets running, splashing hot cleaning oil against the smooth floor. Pulling himself up into a more dignified posture, he strode down the first row of washracks, heading for the stalls he and Sunstreaker had claimed for themselves near the end. They technically didn't hold any sway over who used which washracks, but those who had been with the Autobots long enough knew that the Twins would put up quite a fuss if their favorite spots were taken.

Considering this, he was extremely surprised to find Wheeljack, of all mechs, anywhere _near_ 'their' stalls. Not just near, but right next to them. The engineer didn't seem to be paying any attention to his surroundings, just standing there in the stall, leaning with one hand against the wall in front of him, head down as the warm oil ran down the back of his shoulders, over his green-striped white armor. His vocal resonators were half lowered and his wing-blades were angled downwards, almost parallel to his spinal struts. He was so far off in his own little world that he hadn't even raised the partitions between his stall and the ones on either side, and he didn't react as the Twins approached.

Sideswipe smirked. _'This is going to be fun.'_

He felt Sunstreaker lay a hand on his shoulder. -Don't.- It was as if his brother was reading his mind. In all actuality, that probably wasn't too far from the truth.

He shrugged his brother's hand off as he continued on his path. How could he pass up a chance to irritate Wheeljack? It wasn't every day the Twins came across someone their size who would actually fight back if provoked. It was entertaining, and gave him a good chance to fit in some extra training, to boot.

Sideswipe sidled into the stall to Wheeljack's left, glancing at the engineer. He hadn't moved, and was staring blankly at some distant point halfway down the wall. The red mech leaned against the partition between their stalls; it barely came up to his chest when it was down, making it the perfect height to lean on and giving him an excellent stance to do some prime annoying from. "Look who finally decided to show his face plates. You skipped out on duty with your squad today, you know. Or maybe you don't know. Maybe you're just too good for this world to care about something as mundane as squad duty."

He saw Wheeljack's silvered resonators sink further, until they were completely collapsed into his helm. Then the engineer turned his head just enough to give Sideswipe a death glare like no other.

_'Oh, I see now. No resonators, no voice. Nice way to tell someone to frag off, huh? Well guess what, nobody does that to me and gets away with it.'_

Sunstreaker growled a warning as he took his usual space on the other side of his brother. -Knock it off, Sides.-

-But I'm just getting started!- He let one arm dangle over the partition. "What, seeing a little spilled energon get your spark all twisted up?" he asked, grinning. It was only a matter of time before he figured out what to say to get the white mech to snap. And then...party time!

With slow, deliberate motions, Wheeljack turned to face the wall again, raising his free hand to shut off the faucet.

_'Slagger, stop ignoring me!'_

-Sideswipe, don't.-

He paid no heed to his brother. He was on a roll with his goading, and who was Sunstreaker to try to stop him when he was having fun? "Or is it that you can't handle the fact that your buddy Blue decided to play the hero on the battlefield and got himself slag--"

* * *

In hindsight, he probably shouldn't have spontaneously dragged Wheeljack into playing doctor for him. But it just hadn't crossed his processor at that time. There had been so much work to do, so many that had needed medical attention, and he and First Aid couldn't handle it. They had needed someone who had at least a basic knowledge of how to put things together, could do so with decent consistency, and would follow their orders. Wheeljack had been there, and he had fit the description. Mostly, anyway...the engineer's track record with obeying ranking officers wasn't the greatest. But Ratchet could tell, somehow, that Wheeljack would know when to stop being ornery. He wasn't stupid. Just not always agreeable.

It didn't even occur to Ratchet that something might be wrong until Ironhide called up to the medbay asking why Wheeljack was not on duty with the rest of his squad and why he wasn't answering comm pages. So the CMO had headed down to the engineer's quarters to find the mech sitting on his berth, shaking like a terrified sparkling, covered in old energon and lubricant. It had taken a bit of gentle coaxing--not Ratchet's specialty--to bring Wheeljack back to some semblance of reality and convince him to take a trip to the washracks.

_'Why do I never realize these things are happening until it's too late?'_ Ratchet looked down at Bluestreak, who was still offline, but now safely in the medbay instead of the lab. _'Mental health was never my strong point, but slag...even I should be able to recognize the signs by now.'_

Startled from his thoughts by the sound of the medbay doors opening, he looked up from the gunner to see what new disturbance this shift would bring. He relaxed when he recognized the newcomer. _'Finally. Someone who understands that when I say to come back in a half-cycle, I mean it.'_

"You requested for me to return," Perceptor said by way of greeting.

"Just a follow-up." Ratchet gestured at one of the free tables.

The scientist took a seat on it without question. "My shoulder appears to be mostly operational again. It still locks up though..." He raised his right arm, showing Ratchet where his range of movement ended.

"Hmph." The CMO pushed Perceptor's arm down, opening up a few panels on his shoulder. "You want to give me any more advice on what I should be fixing?" Ratchet had been rather surprised--and annoyed--to find Perceptor, a mech who knew almost as much about Transformer anatomy as he himself did, mixed in with the others who had comprised the militia. The scientist had known exactly what parts of him had been injured in the battle. And he had let the CMO know so in excruciating detail.

Ratchet had replied to that as he usually did to someone who smartmouthed him in his own medbay: he cuffed him on the side of his red helm as a warning to stay in his place and let the medic do his work.

Perceptor shook his head. "I'll allow you the honor of diagnosis this time."

"You're a fast learner," Ratchet said, smirking as he dug around in the red mech's shoulder gears.

The scientist shifted uncomfortably, though he hid it as an attempt to move so the CMO had better access to his shoulder. "Is Hound recovering?" Perceptor asked, changing the subject.

Ratchet remembered Hound as the green mech who had been close to death, the first one he had brought into the medbay. "He'll be fine in a few cycles."

"That's good to know." Perceptor smiled.

"He a friend of yours?"

"I wouldn't say a _friend_...but a good acquaintance. What about _him_?"

Ratchet saw the scientist nod, indicating the table across the medbay from them. "Bluestreak," the CMO said softly.

"Yes, him...he didn't seem so well on the shuttle."

"He suffered a severe shock to his energon pump that didn't manifest any symptoms until he got back here. I would guess it was from a poorly-aimed null ray. Or a well-aimed one, depending on how you view it."

The medbay doors hissed open again; Ratchet recognized First Aid's light footsteps. "Ratchet, do we have any flex patches left?"

"In the first cabinet, why?"

"Washrack fight," First Aid said, exasperation heavy in his voice.

"Let me guess...Sunstreaker."

"Sideswipe, actually." The cabinet opened and closed. "He chose a bad time to get smart with Wheeljack."

"Slag," Ratchet muttered, halting his work on Perceptor's shoulder. _'Bad time indeed. Is Sideswipe really so dense that he can't recognize when a mech's not in the best place mentally?'_ "How much damage this go-around?"

"Not much. Sideswipe dropped it after Wheeljack popped him across the face. A couple of the stalls may need to be put back together though."

Ratchet started up his welder again. "What about Wheeljack?"

"He's back in his quarters, I think."

"Hmm."

"You're not going to make me report this to Prowl, are you?"

"No. If it got resolved and flex patches are the only thing required, we don't need his input." _'Primus knows sitting in a cell is not what Wheeljack needs right now.'_

"True," First Aid said by way of agreement. "Well, I'll be back shortly."

"Wheeljack?" Perceptor said as the doors closed once more. "From Etraum?"

Ratchet nodded. "He's the one you walked in with."

"That was him?" The scientist sounded excited by that.

"What, you know him?"

"Two of my students from Arnis Hul were taking an internship under him."

"Huh. Small world."

"Indeed."

* * *

Cybertron was strange. He had been studying this world for vorns and he still didn't know everything about it. And now that his mentor, the senior ambassador Rhath, was dead...

He felt alone.

Being on a military base was so different from his previous interactions with the Council in Iacon. Yes, the Prime was here, and he saw to it that Kree was taken care of, but he offered little in the way of companionship. He was a busy mech, it was understandable. That left Kree to wander the base by his lonesome, and he was getting tired of it.

In an attempt to stave off his boredom, he had requested to tag along on one of the excursions to a nearby Neutral town. Optimus and Prowl had not been terribly keen on the idea of exposing the ambassador like that. Red Alert had thrown an absolute fit; as the Autobot security director, Kree's safety fell under his jurisdiction. Kree did not trust Red Alert in the slightest--it was hard to trust someone after he held a gun to your head--but he managed to keep his anger in check just long enough to remind them that, as an ambassador, he did technically outrank everyone on the base except for the Prime, and therefore he had better well be allowed to go on this trip.

The Neutral town had been a pleasant enough diversion. Kree had taken care to not cause any trouble for the Autobots he had traveled with, on the hope that he could be allowed more trips like this in the future. But all too soon they had to return to the base, and he was once more by himself as the Autobots returned to their duties as soldiers.

The most excitement he had experienced since then was when he had nearly died when Wheeljack accidentally set off the artillery shell. Immediately following that whole fiasco, he had been ever-so-politely barred from going into the lab.

And then came the attack, and half of the base was emptied as the Autobots rushed to respond to the call for help. Kree had silently slipped into his room, and used the time to just think.

That was when he realized what his problem was: he lacked friends on Cybertron. When he had been in Iacon, he and Rhath had simply been too busy to try to befriend Cybertronians. But that was the whole point of being an ambassador, wasn't it? Reaching out to other cultures with the hope of bringing understanding. What better way to do that than to have friends?

It saddened Kree when he figured that out. He was a social mech by nature, it should have been so much more obvious! His course of action was clear: find someone he could at least sit down with and talk and share stories and keep each other company. _How_ he should do that was another matter entirely. He was clueless when it came to Cybertronian customs surrounding friendship. What if he did something irredeemably offensive by mistake?

There was also the matter of _who_. He didn't know many of the Autobots well, besides Optimus. He did know Prowl, and Red Alert, and Ratchet, and Bluestreak...Primus help him, that little mech thought everyone was his friend...but he hadn't had a chance to talk with any of them. Except for...

He clicked once to himself in affirmation. Why he didn't think of these things sooner, he would never know. He found a datapad on his desk and, after a bit of experimentation, figured out how to write on it. He still wasn't completely confident with his Cybertronian, so he could only hope his words would be understood. When he finished, he tucked the datapad into the small hold in his torso, quickly checked the computer near his berth to make sure he knew where he was going, and exited his room.

Nobody questioned him as he made his way through the corridors of the base. He didn't bother trying to retain the proper smooth, flowing steps an ambassador was supposed to take as he moved about. Instead, he fell into the long stride that was more suited to his kind's build. There was no need to worry about appearances here. Nobody to impress. He had almost died twice within a short amount of time. That would scare the need to look good out of any sane mech.

He arrived at his destination soon enough. For a while, he just stood at the door, staring at it. _'Well...no going back.'_ He raised a slim finger and touched the call button on the door's command panel. He thought it was the call button, anyway. They weren't labeled.

A moment of silence. Then a gruff "What?" from within.

"May we talk?" Kree said, as clearly as he could. He still wasn't sure if the door consoles had an intercom system in them or if he had to talk through the door.

"You aren't supposed to be here."

"Nobody's stopping me."

"You like getting into other mechs into trouble, don't you?"

"Just tell Prowl it's all my fault." He tried to make this sound light-hearted, but the effect was lost thanks to the force he was talking with in order to be heard through the door.

This was greeted by a short pause. "Fine."

He tapped lightly on the engage switch, but nothing happened. Confused, he tried again. When again there was no movement, he realized what was going on. "You've locked the door."

He could hear movement from within the room, then a click as locking mechanisms released, and the door slid open.

Kree was not much shorter than the mech who stood before him, but he was so much more lightly-built that the Cybertronian looked positively huge compared to him. He looked up into the mech's face for a moment, then reached into his chassis and withdrew the datapad. "For you."

Wheeljack didn't take it at first. He looked as if he had just had the worst day of his entire life, and the ambassador immediately worried that he had chosen a bad time to visit. But then the inventor took the offered datapad. "What is it?"

"You were interested in our methods of killing coneheads." Kree tilted his head slightly downwards, in a non-threatening gesture. "I wrote down what I could remember. I hope my Cybertronian is understandable. I am not as proficient with writing it as speaking."

For a long time, Wheeljack just looked at him through tired optics. Then, his face plates shifted ever-so-slightly into the smallest of smiles. "Thanks."

"I'm still curious as to why you want to know."

Slowly, Wheeljack stepped back into his quarters. He took a moment to turn off his personal terminal, then gestured to the chair in front of it. "Have a seat."

Kree entered the small room and sat on the offered chair, although he not so much sat as perched on it. Sitting in the manner of Cybertronians was uncomfortable. Instead, he tucked his long legs beneath him on the seat and settled in, waiting for the answer to his curiosity.

Wheeljack sat on his berth and rubbed at his helm, as if that would stimulate his processor into remembering. Though the datapad in his hand was lit, he did not look at it. "I was thinking...about how none of our weapons can effectively stop Seekers with any sort of consistency. They're just too fast...too well-armored..."

Kree nodded. He knew about these issues well.

"There's just...nothing that scares them. Take one down and his wingmates will be on your aft before you know what hit you. All these vorns, they've been constructed to be perfect fighting machines and now we're fragged because of it." He had that distant look on his face again, like he did back in the lab. He was thinking.

"We've had to deal with fighting them much longer than you have," Kree said. "It's not easy."

Wheeljack was still rubbing his helm. "But you _can_ stop them...right?"

The ambassador nodded to the datapad. "Yes. It's a combination of strategy and our...components? The way we're designed? I don't know the word..."

"Physiology?" the inventor offered.

Kree shrugged. He would have to look that word up some time.

The inventor was looking at the datapad. "That's what I was thinking about, mostly. How a _mech_, not a weapon, could stop a Seeker. If there was any way to make a drone that could accomplish what your race does. Even just to a small degree."

The ambassador cocked his head. "Sounds ambitious. It took the original Jhiasian colonists generations to get a suitable design down, and even longer for us to devise strategies for confronting the coneheads."

"Well don't go killing _all_ of my dreams, now."

The Jhiasian flattened his crest against his neck in apology, but the way Wheeljack was looking at him didn't seem to hold any ill thoughts toward the ambassador. He relaxed slightly. "I would offer my assistance, but I'm afraid this is beyond my area of knowledge."

Wheeljack tapped the data pad against his knee. "I think you've already helped as much as you can."

Kree shifted his jaws into a semblance of a smile. The gesture was not used by his race, but he wasn't sure Wheeljack would recognize Jhiasian forms of expressing pleasure.

After a short, but comfortable, silence, Wheeljack set the datapad aside. "So...do you know how to play Nak-Thalin?"

The ambassador shook his head. "We don't have it on Jhias. I've never had the time to learn the rules."

"I hear they're planning to play a few rounds later in the rec room. I could teach you before then..."

"Sounds interesting."

* * *

If there was one thing Prowl hated, it was when Optimus didn't completely explain things to him. That usually meant the Prime was planning something he knew Prowl would object to. In this most recent case, it meant the Autobot leader was planning something that would require moving the entire Autobot army somewhere far away at a moment's notice. Something that could take this war off-world.

Something bad.

As it stood though, Prowl had no choice but to obey his commander. Armed with instructions, a set of coordinates, and a lock code, he quietly went about selecting a small team to travel with him. He quickly decided on Grapple, for his understanding of the construction of large structures, and Red Alert, for his ability to quickly analyze systems.

Unfortunately, fate was conspiring against the lieutenant.

Ratchet had seen Red Alert following Prowl through the hall, and immediately demanded to know where the security director was being taken. Red, according to him, was still suffering from the virus that had been accidentally implanted in his processor, and who knew what kind of problems that could cause? No, it would not be a good idea for Red Alert to be too far away from the CMO.

If Prowl had the time, he would have told Ratchet to mind his own business, in more polite terms, of course. But time was something he did not have this cycle, so he had grudgingly allowed the medic in on the team rather than risk a potentially lengthy and loud argument with the infamous Hatchet.

But fate's cruel joke didn't stop there.

Kree had, for some reason or another, been walking with Ratchet at that time. They had been in the middle of discussing something when Prowl and Red Alert had passed by. So Kree had been present for the entire exchange between the lieutenant and the CMO.

And he had wanted in on the action.

Again, Prowl was in no position to be arguing at the moment. They needed to get on their way before it was too late in the cycle. So with a final growl of exasperation, he gave in to Kree's curiosity with a short, stern lecture that if the ambassador caused any trouble on this mission, or slowed them down, he could be putting their very lives at risk, and Prowl would not tolerate that. To which Kree had merely nodded in understanding.

It wasn't that Prowl expected any trouble. They would be traveling through the old underground of eastern Iacon in order to reach their destination. Few traveled through those tunnels, and even the Decepticons more or less ignored the ancient pathways. And _if_ there was trouble, there were plenty of places to hide down there until help arrived.

That didn't give them leave to be careless. They were silent as they raced through the tunnels under the outer fringes of Iacon, Prowl leading, Grapple behind him, followed by Red Alert. Ratchet brought up the rear, carrying Kree in his large hold. They kept a rapid pace, as they didn't have much time to finish this mission and bring their findings back to Optimus. The Prime had placed much importance on this mission, and Prowl wasn't one to disappoint.

Although he was one to get slightly frustrated that out of all the Autobots in this small group, only Red Alert was capable of reaching the same speeds as himself. As it was, they had to take a slightly slower pace in order to not lose Ratchet.

They still made good time through the underground, and Prowl didn't even sense other Cybertronians nearby. That at least was good. A good forty breems after leaving the base, Prowl turned down a side tunnel whose entrance was dark and nearly obscured in the shadows. This tunnel angled downwards slightly, and the Autobots were able to coast down it, cutting their engines to prevent any unnecessary noise and energy output that could be detected by less-than-friendly individuals. They continued in this fashion for several klicks, until Prowl led them down another, smaller passage. He coasted to the end of it, where it leveled off, and stopped.

-We should be safe from here on,- he informed the others. Then he transformed, walking to the door that was nearly invisible against the dull, worn wall. He opened a hidden panel, typing in the code. Behind him, he could hear his companions transforming as well.

He was pleasantly surprised when the ancient doors slid open, and even more so when a series of dim light panels in the ceiling of the room beyond were activated. Though the panels were dirtied by vorns of disuse, the light they cast was more than enough to show that the room was huge. Prowl couldn't even see the other end of it. But that was nothing compared to seeing what the bay contained.

There was no time to stop and gawk. The lieutenant immediately fell to the task at hand. "Grapple, run diagnostics on them. See if anything needs repairs. Red Alert, check systems functionality. Ratchet, you see what supplies are still on board, and what is needed. Kree and I will look into the fuel situation." Prowl turned to look at his group. "We leave in fifty breems. Optimus wants us to report back at the base before the end of the cycle."

With nodding heads and a soft chorus of "Yes, sir"s, the Autobots set off across the expansive room to their first destination. Shrouded in shadows where the poor lighting could not penetrate the darkness, entombed beneath the surface of Cybertron, untouched for millennia, rested the massive spaceship known as the _Aeternitas_. Next to it sat the _Ark_, a slightly smaller and lighter transport, its golden hull gleaming as if it was new. The two ships had been unceremoniously shoved into this dark launching bay long before Prowl's time, sealed away from the light of the surface world, forgotten by time.

Optimus had not forgotten them. And now, he had a reason to feel they may be needed again.

This worried Prowl.

What was Optimus planning?

Kree trotted alongside the lieutenant as he made his way to the _Aeternitas_. The Jhiasian was whistling and hooting softly as he craned his neck to look at the ships. "They are big," he said after a while.

"Back when they were still in operation, the _Aeternitas_ was said to have a full crew compliment of over five hundred mechs."

"Five hundred?"

"I don't think it was ever run at full capacity though," Prowl said. "It's hard to find five hundred mechs who are willing to leave Cybertron to live aboard a vessel like this."

"I've never heard of something so big," Kree said softly.

"Bigger ones have existed."

"Bigger?" Kree's optics were wide behind the panels of yellow glass that shielded them.

"Yes." They had finally reached the ramp that ran up into the _Aeternitas_. _'He's right. These ships are huge.'_ "They were mostly used for transport. Although one did have its holds stripped and replaced with missile bays..." He shuddered involuntarily.

"What happened to it?"

He thought for a moment, running through history files he hadn't touched since his days at the academy. "It was scrapped due to its huge energy requirements, as were most of the warships after the Civil Wars. The Council felt there was a better use for all the fuel they consumed."

"So are these the only ones left?"

"Yes." _'Primus, I hope so...'_

* * *

After compiling their finds on the two warships, Prowl led the group back through the ancient underground of Cybertron, although he chose a different route than he had used to get there. It was a bad idea to retrace the same path to a secret as great as the spaceships, after all.

Then again, it was also a bad idea to take a path as exposed as this one. Though the Autobots were still in the underground, every so often they passed under a huge hole that had been blasted through the roadways above during some battle or another that left the Autobots open to view to anyone who looked down into the tunnels. Nobody had bothered doing repairs in this section of Iacon...there was nobody left in this area to do the repairs. They had all either left or been kill. And so the evidence of destruction stayed, painfully obvious to all.

It sickened Prowl to see such destruction to his home, and to know that Cybertron would remain this way until the war was concluded. Who knew how long that would be? At least for now, he could take consolation in the fact that since this area had been abandoned by its residents, there wouldn't be anyone around to see four Autobots speeding through the underground.

Except there _was_ someone. He suddenly had that tingling on the edges of his sensors that he recognized as an early warning that he was being watched. This was exactly what he had _not_ wanted to happen.

With a silent command to his team, he slowed and transformed, standing at ready as he scanned the dim area, hiding just out of the beams of cool light that streamed in from cracks and holes in the roadway above. He fed power into his weapons, though he did not activate them.

Red Alert was not so subtle about things. He inched closer to the lieutenant, his gun drawn and held at ready before him.

"Lower your weapon," Prowl growled to him.

"What is it?" Grapple asked in a low voice as he drew closer to them.

"We're being watched."

"I sense it as well," Ratchet said. The CMO drew closer to the other Autobots, urging Kree to take a safe position in the middle of their group.

"Show yourself!" Prowl commanded to the shadows.

Silence. A long silence. Then two blue optics peered at them from the darkness.

Red Alert raised his gun again. Prowl slapped it back down.

The optics moved closer, flickering rapidly and weaving back and forth in a most unsteady fashion. Prowl could hear the mech shuffling across the floor, as if it was not used to walking. It stopped just at the edge of one beam of light, and Prowl drew air into his vents as he recognized the build of the stranger. It was a Seeker.

This was strange. Seekers usually detested the underground areas; in fact, they were downright paranoid of being beneath the surface. Yet this one stood down here calmly, content to just watch the Autobots.

Something wasn't right.

-Why isn't it attacking?- Grapple said over the comm lines.

The lieutenant shook his head, just as confused as the architect. "What do you want, Seeker?" he demanded.

The Seeker tilted his head. "Want?" He appeared deep in thought. "Want...want...bait? What I want...more, more...clouds! High and high..." His words degraded into cheeps and whistles.

"Slag," Ratchet muttered. "It's insane."

And indeed he looked to be. He shifted back and forth on his feet, optics unfocused as he continued muttering and clicking to himself.

"Back off, Decepticon," Red Alert hissed, his voice tense.

"Decepticon?" The sudden, sharp question echoed harshly through the tunnels. The Seeker sat down, grasping his feet in his hands. "Hmm? Decepticon? No...no... What is your designation?" His words had suddenly taken on a very different tone, as if he was given an impersonation of someone. "Seeker...Seeker Fireflight, yes..." He sounded like himself again as he made a gesture resembling a salute to the air. Then he giggled. "Flying...flying high, Seekers five, round and round..."

"Let's go," Prowl muttered. "He's not going to do anything. He's too far gone to even know we're here."

But the moment the Autobots went to transform, the Seeker was scrambling toward them, sometimes scurrying across the ground on all fours, sometimes up on his two legs. "No, no...wait...pretty Autobots..."

The Autobots jerked away, startled by the Seeker's charge.

Red Alert shot at him.

The Seeker--Fireflight, if his mad ramblings counted for anything--screeched, tumbling backwards as the laser bolt struck him.

He was suddenly not the only Seeker present.

Summoned by Fireflight's cry, four of the aerial soldiers dove into the underground through the gaps in the road above the Autobots' heads. They swept down on the group, growling and hissing with talons extended, but strangely did not follow through on their threatening motions. The closest they came to touching the Autobots was the gust of wind that was sent down as they descended. Instead, the Seekers landed next to Fireflight, huddling around him, keening and whuffing softly in concern for their injured comrade.

"Let's _go_!" Prowl shouted. He lunged forward, trying to transform, but found his way blocked by the largest of the Seekers. He stumbled back to avoid running into the flyer.

The Seeker was scowling furiously, but as before, made no move to actually attack. "You hurt him," he said in a low voice.

"He threatened us!"

The Seeker glanced to his fallen wingmate, then back to the lieutenant. "Fireflight?" he asked in disbelief.

"He charged us, and we reacted reasonably."

A glare from the aerial warrior. "You _hurt_ him."

Prowl glanced at his comrades, and saw that they had been surrounded by the three uninjured Seekers, who hissed through their vents. Though they were doing an excellent job of being threatening, they still didn't attack. Almost like they were waiting for something. Prowl looked back up at the one he figured was their leader, putting his weapons on low power. "What are you waiting for, Seeker?"

"I am thinking."

"About how exactly you want to kill us?" Red Alert sneered.

Prowl made a reminder to himself that if they got out this alive, he would have to speak to Red about keeping his vocalizer muted when off-base.

"I would rather not," the Seeker said. "I will not lead my wing in the behavior of Decepticons." Before any of the Autobots had a chance to comment on that, he continued. "You reacted out of fear. I can forgive that. But you did injure Fireflight." A clicking came from the Seeker as he thought. "I am willing to let one of you leave on the promise that you will bring back a medic to take care of Fireflight. The rest of you will stay with us. And I _will_ kill you if a single false move is made." His wingmates started growling at those words.

Something definitely wasn't right, Prowl concluded. Seekers were not forgiving creatures, especially when the well-being of a wingmate was concerned.

Ratchet was having the same thoughts. -Think it's a trap?- he commed to the lieutenant.

-I don't know. This certainly isn't normal behavior for them.-

-I'll do it,- Ratchet said after a moment of consideration.

-Are you sure?-

-If it means we can get out of this alive.-

-All right.-

The CMO spoke up, addressing the wing leader. "I am a medic. If you swear your wingmates will not harm my companions, I'll repair Fireflight to the best of my ability right now."

The Seeker was silent, flexing his claw-tipped fingers, as if trying to decide if Ratchet's words were true or not.

"Let them do it, Silverbolt," growled one of the other Seekers. "The sooner he gets fixed, the sooner we can leave."

Prowl found it odd that the Seekers had the same feelings about this situation that he did.

"Fine," Silverbolt grunted. "You four--" He nodded at the Autobots. "--will stay right here in my sight. The medic will do his work. But quickly." He glanced up at the other Seekers. "And stay out of his way. He knows more about this than you three do, despite what you may like to think."

Ratchet hurriedly strode to the wounded Fireflight, who was on his back, rocking from side to side and flailing like a frightened sparkling. He was closely followed by the other three Seekers, as if they had never heard Silverbolt's urging otherwise.

-I don't like this,- Red Alert said through the comm lines. His sensor nodes were sparking.

-Neither do I,- Prowl said as he kept a wary eye on Ratchet through the mass of Seekers that surrounded him. -There's something about this situation we're not privy to. But there's not much we can do right now.- He eyed Silverbolt, who returned his suspicious gaze with equal distrust.

"Move Air Raid, I can't see!"

"Shut up Slingshot. It's your fault this happened."

"Silverbolt! Skydive pushed me!"

"I did not!"

"Oh back up, would you?" Prowl heard Ratchet shout over the Seekers' childlike whining. "It's just a scratch. Stop acting like he's on his last--oh for Primus' sake. Look, see? I'll have this repaired in no time if you will _leave me alone_! You're lucky Red didn't take the time to aim properly."

Red Alert narrowed his optics.

With a sigh of exasperation, Silverbolt reluctantly stepped away from the Autobots. He stalked to the other Seekers, bodily grabbing two of them and hauling them away from Ratchet. As soon as he let go of them to fetch the other, however, they were right back at Fireflight's side.

"They're worse than the Twins," Grapple mused.

"That could be because there's only two of them, and five of these," Red Alert muttered.

Suddenly, one of the Seeker's heads jerked up, blue optics turned to the sky that was visible through one of the many holes in the ceiling. "Silverbolt!"

A too-close flash of purple light, and Prowl was bowled over, falling into Kree.

Blackness.

* * *

"Well, I'll be Pit-damned if everyone's favorite semi-sane gestalt team hasn't found us exactly what we were looking for!"

This was followed by a ground-shaking sonic boom. The Seekers on the ground merely shifted their balance against the irritating vibrations. The Autobots, however, were not suited to withstand that kind of sonic force. They crumpled to the ground half-conscious. Or, in Prowl's case, totally unconscious. But that was more of Skywarp's doing than Thundercracker's.

Skywarp picked up the limp Autobot lieutenant, wrapping his claws around Prowl's chassis and wing-panels.

Silverbolt and his wingmates were positively shrieking. The air rang with their angry cries as the gestalt team moved to attack the newcomers. But Skywarp and his partner had not come alone. Silverbolt skidded to a halt as yet another wing of Seekers entered the scene: the silent, ancient, and horrifically bright-colored Rainmakers. The brilliant trio commanded such respect among Seekers that all they had to do was stand there, and Silverbolt and his wing scrambled away in fear.

Slingshot dared to feign a lunge at them, the foolish, brave spark that he was.

The blue one raised an arm and struck the young Seeker, easily knocking him aside. Yellow and Green--no one knew the Rainmakers' individual names any more--smirked as Slingshot scampered back behind Silverbolt, bruised in face and ego.

Skywarp was laughing now, raking his claws against Prowl's armor in his glee. Thundercracker had joined him, carrying the Jhiasian Transformer. The two groups of Seekers glared at one another, waiting for someone to make the first move.

He could order his team to attack. But Fireflight was down; though his wounds were not bad, his mind did not recognize that fact and had locked up in terror, rendered him useless for now. The rest of his team could be as much of a danger to themselves as their enemies when caught up in the excitement of a battle. And they would have to face the Rainmakers, Skywarp and his teleporting ability, and Thundercracker's annoying sonic attacks all at once.

Attacking wasn't a viable option.

They could form up, combine with one another...but that would likely only bring about more damage than good. It was not so easy to control their combined form, and in this confined space they could end up killing the Autobots by accident. Not that it was a good idea to form up when one member was injured anyway.

Silverbolt balled his fists in frustration. "This is not your territory," he growled to the Decepticons, in the vain hope that reason still held some sway in their minds.

"All of Cybertron is our territory," Skywarp snapped. "We go where we please. Today, where we please is where you sorry glitches are causing a commotion." He looked down at the Autobot in his claws. "And what fine prey you've found us..."

He growled softly. He had not meant for this to happen to the Autobots. He had just wanted to see what had cause Fireflight to panic so badly. If he had known how closely the Decepticons had been following his team, if he had known the Autobots were involved with Fireflight, he would have put more effort into throwing the 'Cons off his trail. "Let them go!"

Skywarp turned his attention from Prowl to the gestalt leader. "What's this? Are you sticking up for the Autobots?"

"That is my prerogative," Silverbolt said. "We are free agents."

"And you will remain so as long as you don't anger _us_," Thundercracker put in.

"Don't threaten me, Decepticon slave."

"It's _you_ who should not be threatening _us_," the dull blue Seeker retorted. He entered a brief glaring contest with the gestalt leader...which Thundercracker won. "Don't forget your place, Silverbolt," he said in a low voice. "You are alive because we wish it."

It was true. Silverbolt felt his energon run cold. His wingmates shifted nervously behind him as they picked up on his fright.

When the war had first started, the Seekers had immediately sided with Lord Megatron. Those who hadn't, the ones who 'showed Autobot sympathies', were slaughtered mercilessly. Silverbolt and his wing fell into that category. They had survived the culling because of their unique ability, and only because of that. Thundercracker was right, in that even the fact that they were a gestalt team would not save them if they irritated the Decepticon Seekers enough. And Silverbolt knew from experience that it didn't take much to anger Decepticons.

Such as if he decided to pursue freeing the Autobot lieutenant from Skywarp's claws. That would be cause enough for them to kill him right here and now, and without him his wingmates would be easy to hunt down and destroy.

Skywarp cackled maniacally, knowing the Decepticons had won this round, and turned to take flight.

_'No..._no_! I won't let them use me like this!'_ Silverbolt snarled in rage. "_NO!_" He lunged forward, anger and frustration and hopelessness clouding his mind. His wingmates clicked in alarm, but were too confused by his uncharacteristic ire to move.

A blow to the side of his head. Armor crumpling. A clawed foot to his torso. He was thrown to the ground with no small amount of force. He rolled onto his back, shaking, sobbing quietly. The Rainmakers glared down at him, daring him to attempt another assault.

Skywarp was still laughing. "How do you plan on stopping us, Silverbolt?" he sneered. "You command a wing of broken-minded younglings who don't even have the sense to assist their leader! How pathetic is that?"

"Come on, Skywarp," Thundercracker said. "It's not worth our time to hassle the insane. Shockwave has been wanting this piece of filth to translate transmissions to Jhias." Silverbolt could see him give the Jhiasian in his hands a small shake.

The teleport snorted. "Well, he wouldn't need the ambassador if he hadn't gone and slagged off Ramjet, now would he?" The Seeker pair chuckled at some joke Silverbolt did not comprehend. "Fine. You, Rainmakers, get those other Autobots. We're heading back to the base."

Silverbolt didn't bother trying to get up to stop the Rainmakers. He just lay on the broken ground and watched as they took to the sky with their prizes in hand. His claws dug into the metal panels below him, as if the floor was those Decepticons he so badly wished to hurt as much as they had hurt him.

_'Just a toy in their little games, aren't you?'_ some part of him scolded.

Gentle hands were pulling him up. "Silverbolt...I'm...I'm sorry we didn't...we couldn't..." Skydive mumbled in his soft voice.

Silverbolt swatted his wingmates away. "Leave me alone," he growled.

It was the single worst thing one gestalt team member could say to another.

Skydive staggered back as if he had been struck, his stance timid as he glanced to the ground and back to his leader. Air Raid and Slingshot likewise backed off, silent as their optics darted back and forth in confusion and fear. Fireflight was still on his back some ways off in the tunnels, squealing his distress at being injured and left by himself.

The wing leader lurched to his feet, glaring down at his teammates in an anger that was not rightfully directed at them, and they cowered beneath his scathing look. Air Raid broke first, wailing loudly, not understanding why his leader was upset at him.

Silverbolt turned, walking away.

"Silverbolt!" Slingshot mewled above the crying of Fireflight and Air Raid. "Come back!"

He jumped into the air and transformed himself into his tetrajet mode.

Skydive had taken "I'm sorry...I'm sorry..." as his mantra.

With a burst of his engines, he shot off into the sky over Cybertron, leaving his terrified wingmates behind.

* * *

They were late.

Prowl had not contacted Blaster saying why.

Something was wrong.

Optimus paced back and forth across the conference room, every last gear and servo and gyro in his body tense.

Prowl was never late. He was never late without saying _why_.

His processor was whirling with all sorts of worst-case scenarios.

"Hey big bot..."

He hadn't even heard Jazz walk in.

"Ya keep pacing like that, you're going to wear a trench in the floor."

Optimus sighed, then grabbed the nearest chair, turning it around in one smooth motion, and slumped down in it.

"Aw, don't be like that." Jazz walked over to him, laying a gentle hand on his arm. "It'll be okay. Prowl's a big mech, he can take care of himself."

"It's not Prowl I'm worried about," Optimus rumbled. _'It's all of us...'_

"Well...if it'll help take your mind off of things, Wheeljack's got a project idea he wanted to run past ya for approval. Seeing as he's still sorta mostly banned from doing work in the lab and all."

Optimus raised an optic ridge as he looked at Jazz, into that silver face that always had a smile on it. _'Since when did the engineer decide it would be prudent to ask before blowing things up?'_ he thought, bemused. "What kind of project?"

"Something to do with drones and Seekers...I dunno, you'd have to ask him. I didn't understand half the things he was jabberin' on about." Jazz grinned.

_'Drones and Seekers? What in Vector Sigma is that mech planning?'_

Jazz had gotten good at reading the Autobot leader's subtle facial expressions in the short time they had known each other. "Yeah, I'm just as intrigued as you are."

"My curiosity _has_ been piqued," Optimus admitted, slowly rising from his seat to tower over the smaller gray mech. "Who knows...this might be good. He _was_ Chief Engineer in Etraum, and I'm sure there's a reason for that."

Jazz nodded excitedly.

Further discussion of the matter was halted when the conference room's intercom buzzed online. -**Optimus sir?-** Blaster said.

"Yes?"

**-There's a Seeker incoming. Requesting to talk to you.-**

All of his earlier trepidation suddenly returned full-force. "What does he want?"

**-He says he has information on Prowl.-**

"Let him in." Optimus rushed out of the conference room, his long strides taking him quickly down the hallway.

Jazz had to trot to keep pace beside him. "Whoa Optimus, don't run off like that! This is a Seeker we're talking about!"

"_A_ Seeker," the Prime pointed out. "Just one." Seekers never traveled alone. This one was taking a huge risk by not only doing so, but by heading straight into Autobot territory.

Something was wrong.

The Autobots were quick to move out of Optimus' way when he was moving at a pace faster than a walk. Though he would never run into one of them, or step on a minibot, he was still the biggest mech on the base, and there was a certain instinct to get out of the way when something twice your size was running at you.

Another hallway, a set of doors, and they were outside. Optimus looked up at the sound of engines thrumming. Above them, a single tetrajet was circling the base in a holding pattern that seemed almost low enough to scrape the jet's underside on the top of the high-mounted turrets on the roof. It was almost as if the Seeker was afraid to go higher. Upon noticing the Autobots, the Seeker swung around, transforming and landing in front of them, several paces away. "Optimus Prime..." he said softly.

"What is your purpose here, Seeker?"

The flyer looked as nervous as could be. "I...my wing came across a small contingent of Autobots in the underground of Outer Iacon, led by Prowl."

Optimus nodded, encouraging the Seeker to continue.

"We...had a small confrontation...I was willing to allow Prowl and the others to leave, but...we were followed..."

"Get to the point." Normally, Optimus would have allowed him to ramble as he saw fit. One could pick up all sorts of useful tidbits of information when a mech was allowed to talk freely. But he was worried and nervous now, and the fact that it was a Seeker who was bringing him information did not help improve his mood in the slightest.

The aerial mech flinched slightly. "The group was captured by Megatron's Seekers."

"What?"

"I...we...they followed us..."

"How did you find Prowl?"

"One of his teammates shot my wingmate Fireflight. I merely wanted to see why he was so upset. If I had known Autobots were involved, I never would have led the Seekers right to them."

_'This isn't making sense.'_ Optimus thought to himself.

"Can we trust the word of a Decepticon?" Jazz muttered, echoing the Prime's confusion.

The Seeker heard him, and his optics narrowed. "I am no Decepticon. I..." He glanced at Optimus. "I am Silverbolt."

Silverbolt. Optimus knew that name. He was involved in one of several shady experiments Megatron had ordered when he was still Lord Protector. Which experiment precisely, he couldn't remember. But if the lack of a Decepticon insignia was anything to go by, Silverbolt had no great love of Megatron now.

"We can trust him," the Prime said to Jazz. Then, addressing Silverbolt, he asked, "Where were my soldiers taken?"

"To the base," the Seeker replied. "Except the Jhiasian. He was carried off to the space bridge command center."

_'Primus help me.'_ Optimus ran a hand over his face as he absorbed those words. This was not good at all. They would have to conduct two rescue missions. Getting into the Decepticon base would be tricky, but not impossible. Prowl and the others had been in bad situations before, and Optimus had no doubt that they could endure whatever the Decepticons threw at them. They would be okay for a short while. But Ambassador Kree... Optimus hadn't even known the ambassador had been with Prowl for the spaceship mission. Who knew what the Decepticons would do to him, and how much of it he could take? He needed to be rescued, and quickly.

The only problem was that he was at the space bridge command center. The Autobots had attacked it before in an attempt to reclaim it, and had failed miserably. The failure was mostly caused by the presence of a single mech in the battle: the space bridge's self-appointed guardian, Shockwave.

Primus knew even Optimus would rather retreat from a battle than try to make a stand against the one-eyed mech.

"I thank you for telling me this," Optimus said to the Seeker after a moment, unable to come up with a better response.

"It was only right," Silverbolt said, scuffing at the ground with his feet. "Since my wing was unable to stop the Decepticons."

"You did your best, I'm sure."

Silverbolt did not look so sure.

"You are welcome to stay with us," the Autobot leader offered.

The Seeker shook his head. "I can't. I..." He opened and closed his mouth a few times. "I have to get back to my wing."

"I understand."

Without another word, Silverbolt took to the air, streaking away from the base.

"Well...time to rally the troops, huh?" Jazz said.

"Yes...yes."


	10. The Bridge to Jhias

Woo…sorry this is so late in coming. Life happened and then I got lazy.

First off, I'd like to thank everyone who's been reading/faving the story here and over on the tf2007fun community. It fills me with warm fuzzies, it really does. I never intended this story to be more than just the original one-shot (the prologue). Now look at it! A multi-chapter fic and a comic sort of maybe (oh yes—I'm pretty much forgoing the Flash movie idea in favor of a comic. The first two pages can be found in my deviantART gallery)! You only have yourselves to blame for this monster.

Long chapter is long.

* * *

Memory was fragmentary at first.

He remembered being beneath Iacon, traveling along the dark, abandoned underground roads. He remembered Seekers. Lots of Seekers. An ambush. Frag it all, he hated surprises, especially of the attack kind. There was a reason he rarely went onto the field of battle, and when he did, there was a reason he hung back to snipe with Bluestreak rather than join the front-line warriors. No, not just one reason. There were lots of reasons.

"Wake up, little Autobot." The voice was sneering, giddy yet dark as it called to him.

Red Alert slowly became aware of his surroundings, his processor still muddled and groggy thanks to the Seeker's unnaturally strong sonic blast. His optics powered up reluctantly, offering a faded, blurred view of large shapes hovering just out of his range of vision. He didn't move, didn't make a sound as he waited for the image to focus. Eventually, his programming remembered what it was supposed to do, and his optics automatically corrected themselves, minute gears shifting the optic rings around until his vision cleared.

He could see them now. The leering faces of Decepticons that observed him from the darkness, red optics shining bright.

His air intakes shuddered in shock at the unexpected proximity of the mechs, and he dug his heels into the floor, pushing himself away from them. His escape was short-lived, as his arm was caught by a Decepticon who had been standing behind him. He was roughly hauled off the floor to be held tightly against a heavily-armored chassis. Red Alert tried to jerk away, his feet scrabbling for purchase on the smooth floor.

"Where do you think you're going?" was whispered seductively into his audios. He cringed.

-Prowl? Ratchet?- He gave up calling for his companions, realizing that his comm lines were being jammed. His immediate reaction to that was to try to find a way to break through the imposed comm silence. Then he had to ask himself what good that would do if he didn't even know where he was, or who might be monitoring the comm lines.

Ignoring the pain that was his arm being twisted into an unnatural position, he attempted to scan his surroundings. The results came back garbled; whatever had happened to him in Iacon had damaged his sensors. _Panic_ was his response to that. He couldn't live without his sensors any more than Ironhide could live without his cannons. After a few moments of struggling to get his fear under control, he glanced around, hoping to find some visual clue as to where he was.

There were five 'Cons, six counting the one holding him, in his immediate vicinity. They were in a room of some sort.

That didn't help much beyond telling him that even if he had been at full operating efficiency, he was as good as dead. He couldn't even hope to go down fighting, as his gun was conspicuously not present on his person.

He closed his optics, ignoring the mechs that shuffled around him, mocking and goading and baiting him with lewd comments about himself and his commander and any relatives he might have. _'Strange how life repeats itself, isn't it?'_ He recalled having been in a similar position not so long ago, back in Iacon in the earliest cycles of the war. Him, alone in the security center, only halfway in reality as he had been frantically shifting through Iacon's network, trying to lock access to files even as the first Decepticons had broken into the room. He hadn't owned a weapon back then. There had been no way for him to defend himself when the 'Cons, upon realizing what he had done, attacked him in rage, snarling insults at him the whole while.

How had he gotten out of that again?

Oh, right. Inferno had come looking for his friend and ended up showing the Decepticons that not all Autobots are as small and weak as they'd like to believe.

He mentally swore to himself. Inferno was not here this time. Prowl and Ratchet and slag, even Grapple were nowhere to be seen. He had no idea where he was besides a smallish room somewhere, surrounded by Decepticons who looked positively giddy at the prospect of being able to slowly pick apart an Autobot. Could his situation possibly get any worse?

There was another Decepticon in the room, Red suddenly realized. He had been lurking in the darkest shadows, waiting, just waiting. Now, upon seeing that the Autobot had noticed him, he stepped forward, his massive body blocking out what little light came from a single light panel near the ceiling. The shadowed body was covered with jagged, pointed armor that framed even his face, making the fierce red glare even more intimidating. Long fingers idly clicked together as the other Decepticons fell silent.

Yes, yes, his situation could indeed get worse. And it just had.

_'Oh Primus, no.'_ In a single instant, despite his most fervent attempts to prevent it, his body suddenly locked up in fear.

Megatron.

He could feel his processor freezing programs and isolating memory blocks, shutting them off from outside access. A very useful trick to have, but not when it kept him from reacting to his surroundings. He fought with his processor, forcing it to relinquish its grip on several basic programs. He needed to stay awake, aware.

The Decepticon Lord had not stopped his slow but purposeful walk. As Red finally regained control of his motor functions, he struggled once more against his captor, though he knew it was a fruitless gesture. He was not physically strong even compared to mechs of his own size, and all of the Decepticons present were most definitely bigger than him. As much as he hated it, he was at their mercy, if such beings knew mercy, which he greatly doubted.

He did not want to face the Decepticon ruler, but Megatron's clawed fingers closed around his jaw, turning his head and forcing him to look up into that dark, twisted visage. "I regret to inform you that Soundwave is not here to make this process easier for the both of us," Megatron rasped, the faintest hint of sadistic amusement in his words.

'_No...no...no...'_ He could feel his sensor nodes sparking, betraying his panic.

"Let's start with something easy. Where were you and your little friends going in Iacon?"

So Megatron wanted information. Red could play this game. It was his job, and had been for most of his existence, after all. He mentally braced himself, confident in the knowledge that the 'Cons had never been able to best him in all these vorns, although they had certainly come close on a few occasions, and he'd be damned to the Pits if he let them win now.

His only regret was that his body was not built to endure the same hardships...

Megatron waited silently, optics boring into him, face expressionless and yet somehow as terrifying as ever. Red Alert boldly stared back, quiet and calm now as he stopped his earlier flailing. Inside, he still trembled like a sparkling.

Eventually, Megatron's patience finished, and he released his grip, allowing the Autobot to slump down in his captor's hold. "Fool," he hissed. Then...

Claws under his armor. Shock, shock, _shocks!_ to his body. Pain and spasms and screaming and Primus no, stop!

He felt the cold floor beneath him, soothing against his burning armor. He shuddered and cycled his vents, gasping as he picked himself off the ground. He managed to sit up halfway before Megatron grabbed him by his neck and lifted him until his feet no longer touched the floor.

"Can't be the Allspark," Megatron said. "Where were you going?" The question was eerily calm.

He hurt too much to talk right then. He could only shake his head in response.

Red wasn't quite sure what happened, but he found himself on the floor once more, curled up in pain. He pressed his forehead against the smooth metal panels below him, grinding his jaw plates together as he pressed a hand against his torso to ease the ache of some wound he wasn't entirely aware he possessed. He was concentrating more on willing his trembling to stop than counting his injuries.

Again the steel-gray fingers locked around his neck like a vise, dragging him up. "Where?" Megatron repeated, a hint of a snarl in his voice. "What is Optimus looking for?"

"Never," Red whispered through the iron grip of Megatron's claws.

Painhurtshockingtearingbreakingscreaming_no_! Slamming into the wall. Falling to the floor.

He was laughing. Primus help him, Red Alert was laughing. Though the sound was weak and interrupted by choking gasps, he laughed as if he had no reason in the world to know fear.

Megatron stalked to him and lifted him off the floor with a complete lack of gentleness. "Broken already?" He sounded displeased.

Red Alert shook his head slowly as he smiled against the pain that coursed along his neural circuits. "I won't tell you anything," he wheezed through the energon that leaked into his vocal processor. "Ever."

"Oh, I think you will."

"You picked the wrong mech to torture."

Megatron glared at him.

Crushingbreakingpainshocks!

On the floor again. He whimpered as agony rippled through him like an electric pulse.

"Bring me the medic," thundered the Decepticon Lord. "Do what you wish with this one. But leave him alive, for now. Let me know if he changes his mind."

PainshockssweetPrimushelp!

* * *

As much as Ratchet liked to think otherwise, Decepticons were not stupid. No, they recognized the value of keeping your enemy's medic incapacitated. Ratchet had woken from his sonic-induced slumber to find all his equipment either missing or damaged beyond what he could repair in his current state. So, after a completing quick search of the room he was in and finding it devoid of his fellow Autobots and the doors locked, he simply sat down, leaned back against a wall, and put himself into a half-hibernating state to conserve his energy while he pondered his next move.

He was coming up with no ideas and was about ready to investigate the room again to alleviate his boredom when a pair of large Decepticon guards stormed in and dragged him into the hall. Ratchet didn't offer them any resistance--better to remain in one piece than put on a futile show of defiance--but they still held onto him far more roughly than was necessary. After a short trek down a hallway, he was shoved into another dimly-lit room, and the door was closed so quickly behind him it almost nicked his heels.

Though he only had the briefest of glances of the structures outside of the rooms, the CMO was fairly certain he knew where he was. He'd been here before, or at least to a place that looked very similar. He frowned as buried memories revealed themselves to him once more, distant and faded but still bringing with them unwanted emotions.

"Ratchet." The harsh voice echoed from the darkness within the room. "I'm surprised to see you so far off-base when there's no medical emergency to be found."

The CMO lifted his chin in a somewhat haughty gesture. "Prime doesn't own my off-hours."

"No, he wouldn't, would he?"

"Let's just get this over with, Megatron. I'm sure you've got far better things to do than have an idle conversation with one of your old acquaintances." Truth be told, it was Ratchet who didn't want to waste time. Something about the former Lord High Protector had never failed to make him uneasy, even before this whole war had started. He did not want to stay in Megatron's presence any longer than was necessary.

The other occupant of the room shifted with a soft whine of servos. "You always were excessively blunt."

"Come on, it's not like you and I don't already know how this is going to end. I'm going to be a stubborn old glitch, and you're going to try to take me apart so that even _I_ won't know how to put myself back together. Am I right?"

"And cocky too. I had almost forgotten that. Almost."

Ratchet sighed, closing his optics and crossing his arms over his chest. "Can we get started yet?"

"As you wish." Megatron stood, looming over the smaller Autobot. "Why did Prime send you into Iacon?"

"He wanted us to find something he had as a youngling, a little toy turbofox, about so big." Ratchet measured a length with his thumb and finger. "Nostalgia and all."

"Should I start with your right arm or left arm this time?"

"Whatever's easiest for you."

* * *

A summons to the Prime's office. Not a surprising occurrence for an Autobot squad leader. Definitely nothing surprising for Ironhide. Except for one minor detail: Jazz had been the one to send out the summons. As the Second Lieutenant, he was certainly qualified to do such things, but he rarely did. That was Prowl's job. The fact that Jazz had done so this time meant Prowl was either incapacitated to a degree that he could not perform his duties or he was off-base. Ironhide knew for certain that the tactician was not currently in the medbay, so that left the latter scenario.

Sure, Prowl being off-base was nothing new. Optimus often sent him on some mission or another. Yet this time Ironhide had a strange feeling about the situation, something akin to worry that buzzed in a far corner of his mind. Maybe it was because Ratchet was gone as well, and this was not so common. Whatever it was, it made the weapons specialist uneasy.

Nevertheless, he confidently strode into the large office, taking a position to the left of the doorway. He crossed his arms over his chassis, rubbing at his cannons as he waited patiently for an explanation of the summons. To his left, Bumblebee and Blurr were engaged in a quiet conversation while Firestar listened in silence. To Ironhide's right was Inferno, who watched the smaller trio intently.

-You ever going to do anything about her?- Ironhide commed the red mech, smiling slyly.

Inferno's optics winked on an off in surprise. -What?-

-Firestar.-

The large mech scowled fiercely at Ironhide's amusement. -That's none of your business.-

Further comments were cut off as Optimus and Jazz entered from one of the smaller side rooms. The silver mech looked almost comically miniscule next to the Autobot leader, but for once he was every bit as serious as the commander.

Immediately Ironhide knew all his earlier worries had been legitimate, though he still wasn't sure exactly what he was worried about.

Optimus didn't sit down at his desk or even bother to greet his officers before launching into his speech, a sign that he was too preoccupied with something to observe protocol. "Prowl, Ratchet, Grapple, and Red Alert were captured by Decepticons earlier this cycle while on a mission in Iacon and taken to the Decepticon headquarters. Ambassador Kree was also captured, and is being held at the space bridge command center."

_'Slag.'_ Ironhide vividly recalled the battle there a few vorns prior. He especially recalled how badly that had ended for the Autobots. He himself had lost an optic during that fight, and still bore scars across his face from it despite Ratchet's work.

"Bumblebee, Blurr, you and your squads are with me. We leave now." Jazz motioned to the doorway. "We're gonna get Prowl and the others out of the 'Con base." The two officers nodded in response and followed the smaller mech out of the office.

That made sense to Ironhide. Send the small, fast mechs to the 'Con base and save your front-line warriors for the space bridge. It was almost impossible to get within five clicks of the command center without running into Shockwave's troops, while all you had to worry about with the military base was setting off alarms which would then summon the soldiers. You had time to get out if something went wrong. Not so much when dealing with Shockwave.

Of course there was a bigger problem with facing Shockwave than just the number of soldiers he possessed, and that was that they were especially ruthless and brutal fighters, even for Decepticons. The Autobots were not the only ones to have picked up Kaon gladiators when Kolkular fell.

Optimus was speaking now. "Firestar, you will take your squad and infiltrate the command center to retrieve the ambassador. Ironhide and Inferno will attempt to keep Shockwave's attention focused on them to allow you easier access."

"You think he's going to care about two squads of Autobots?" Inferno looked highly doubtful of this. "He'd send out a few wings of Seekers at most."

"I can't risk sending more soldiers," Optimus explained patiently. "You do remember what happened last time, right?"

"Of course. But two squads would hardly be enough to put even a dent in his defenses. It's laughable." Optimus didn't flinch at Inferno's blunt words, just continued calmly regarding the red mech as was his habit.

"So you'd rather our troops end up like Ultra Magnus's?" Ironhide shot Inferno a dark look. "Decimated?"

Inferno appeared ready to say more, but he merely shook his head, silent.

Ironhide admired the red mech's enthusiasm at engaging in all-out warfare, he really did. But Inferno's military training before the war had mostly been in law enforcement. A legitimate form of soldiery, yes, but unlike those with combat training he wasn't so well-versed in knowing how to use available troops efficiently.

Not that Ironhide could blame him. He did rather enjoy the "gather a huge force, run in, and utterly smash your enemies" tactic himself.

It was probably a good thing Optimus had other mechs to devise strategies for him.

"I'll be joining you," Optimus said after the disagreement between his officers had calmed.

"I suppose that'd be incentive for Shockwave to pay attention," Inferno admitted.

"How exactly am I supposed to get in there?" Firestar asked. "Even with some of his attention focused on you, he's still got more than enough soldiers to take on most of the Autobot army. I'll be stopped before I can get to the outer wall."

"You'll be using the command center's lower levels," Optimus said smoothly, not fazed by the femme's reluctance.

"Surely he's got that area covered too." Firestar tilted her head in confusion as she looked up at the Autobot leader.

"Crawl spaces," Optimus said simply. "And scrambling their scans."

For a few moments, all of the Autobots present just looked at the Prime, not comprehending. Sure, it _sounded_ like a good plan when he said it, but that didn't make his words any less confusing to the officers that stood in front of him.

"I spoke with one of the militia mechs earlier. Perceptor." When that didn't elicit understanding from the officers, Optimus continued. "He was one of the scientists who worked on rebuilding the space bridge. He assures me he knows how to enter the command center through less conventional passageways."

"So you expect me to follow a mech I don't know?" Firestar was frowning.

"You can try to use the front door, but it might be a little more difficult."

"He fights well enough," Ironhide said to the femme. "And he'll follow orders during a battle." _'Unlike a few mechs I could mention...'_

Firestar cycled her vents once. "Fine. What about this scanner-scrambler?"

Optimus nodded as he answered her. "Trailbreaker, another of the militia mechs. He can generate some impressive shielding. It won't completely hide you, but it should be enough to allow you to slip past the perimeter sensors."

"And getting back _out_ is the fun part," Inferno muttered.

"We must retrieve the ambassador as quickly as possible," the Prime said, frowning slightly. "But do not be careless. We will not have a medic with us." He glanced at Ironhide. "Make sure you tell the Twins."

"It won't make a difference with them," Ironhide grumbled. "You know that."

"Tell them anyway."

"What about Wheeljack?" Inferno asked. "He was--"

"Absolutely not." Ironhide gave him a sidelong look; his view of the red mech was distorted as his right optic could no longer move as far as the left one. He tried to think of a way to quickly explain that whole fiasco to Inferno, but could only come up with "No." Inferno blinked once, mildly affronted by Ironhide's vehement disapproval, but knew better than to push the matter.

Firestar was shaking her head. "Shockwave will know we're trying something."

"Do you have a better idea?" Ironhide asked her. "We don't have Prowl here, and we don't have time to wait for Jazz to bring him back."

"No, I don't," she said. "I just hate that there's no point to even trying diplomacy with Shockwave."

Optimus made a low clicking sound in his chest, trying to get the officers' attention. "We don't have time to discuss this further. Gather your squads. We leave in five breems."

* * *

_'Translate a message to Jhias, he says. Negotiating, he calls it. Send coneheads to Cybertron or Shockwave sends his soldiers to destroy the conehead youth complex. Not negotiating...demanding._

_'I was good. I said no. Coneheads don't like when things are demanded of them. They may come but they will only cause trouble. They are very displeased when threatened. But they wouldn't listen to me anyway. I am Jhiasian, they are Seeker. They hunt us. We hunt them. Not friends._

_'Friends...'_ Kree traced a claw along a seam in the wall next to him. _'He said he'd kill me. I don't care. Coneheads wouldn't be threatened by that. They'd like it. One less Jhiasian. One less very important Jhiasian._

_'I told him I couldn't translate messages if I was dead. He laughed. One-Eye does not have a nice laugh. There are others who could translate, he says. If he could track them down he would dispose of me. So why do I care? I will wait. I will die.'_

The slender mech curled up on his cold berth, tucking himself into spindly ovoid shape. _'I was bad. Bad, bad, bad Kree. I am too young...I made a mistake...Rhath would never have made a mistake..._

_'I told him. I told him to find those mechs. I told him...I would not be the one to bring about the destruction of the Autobots._

_'I played by feelings. Ambassadors are supposed to play by law. He knows this. Shockwave knows this. He realized I made a mistake.'_

Twin crests along the sides of his face lifted slightly, rippling as he trembled, displaying his distress. _'I must translate a message to Jhias, he says. I will translate it correctly, it will say 'coneheads must send mechs to Cybertron to fight for Megatron or conehead younglings will be destroyed.' I will do this, or Shockwave will send his soldiers. Not to kill conehead younglings. To destroy Jhiasian villages. My people._

_'I made a mistake. He knows where I am weak. I care about others._

_'Translate the message. Coneheads come. Autobots die. Don't translate message. Soldiers go. Jhiasians die._

_'Talkative younglings. Battle-hardened soldiers. Wise leaders. Eccentric inventors. Destructive medics._

_'My sisters. Chief Elders. Seeker-hunters. Hill guardians with their bright tribe-designs painted on external plating._

_'Who do I care for first? Who do I care for most?_

_'Why must I choose?'_

He tucked his chin against his chest, optics shut tight against darkness as he shivered in his bare cell.

_'He has already sent soldiers and weapons. They will arrive on Jhias shortly. They will wait for word on what to do. I know what they will do. I know what will happen. Because I decided it._

_'Forgive me.'_

* * *

-Ten clicks and closing,- Ironhide sent over their comm lines.

The world around them was eerily silent as they sped for the space bridge. Inferno's squad had broken off from them several breems earlier to take a different route. Firestar's group hadn't been seen since they passed Praxus. It was just Ironhide's squad now. Even the Twins were oddly silent and actually following in formation.

Wheeljack very quickly decided that he didn't like going out and fighting. He felt better acting as defense. Give him something to care about, and he would stand and guard it to his death. Send him out on a mission to serve as bait...that didn't sit well with him at all.

It was just his luck that his typically dormant violent streak had decided to surface as a reaction to stress when he had first joined the Autobots. That, coupled with his normal stubborn nature and his sheer size and weaponry, had earned him a place among Optimus Prime's front-line warriors, a job he was only marginally better suited for than acting as a temporary medic.

He really hated himself right now.

-Hey, stripe-aft.- The sharply-spoken words cut across his comm line, jerking Wheeljack from his thoughts. He was so startled by the sudden mental intrusion that it took him a few moments to realize it was Sunstreaker, of all mechs, who had up and contacted him.

-What?- he responded, vaguely irritated by this new name Sunstreaker had invented for him.

-You may want to keep your processor together. Might be helpful out here.-

-What makes you think I need a pep talk from you?- Wheeljack shot back, now definitely irritated about carrying on a conversation with the yellow mech.

-Oh I don't know, maybe the fact that you've had your head up your aft even more than usual ever since you played doctor for Ratchet, and I'm a bit more experienced at this whole fighting thing than you are.-

-Why do you care?-

-You really enjoy making things harder for yourself, don't you?- Sunstreaker seemed to be enjoying this talk about as much as Wheeljack was, which made him wonder what motive the gold warrior had for talking to him in the first place. -I _don't_ care, except that the last time one of my squad-mates was distracted by other goings-on in his life, he died, and I lost an arm.-

-Really.-

-Stop getting your spark all smothered about the medbay. Think too much about it and you won't be able to function once the 'Cons show up. Then someone's going to end up dead, and it sure as hell is not going to be me.-

-You are wonderful at this whole giving advice thing.- Wheeljack wished he was in his normal mode so he could use one of the numerous rude gestures he knew to show Sunstreaker exactly how he felt about his 'advice'.

-You should hear me when I'm not slagged off at someone for smacking my brother around, even if he did deserve it.- Sunstreaker's desire to do the same thing to Wheeljack was quite apparent in his voice.

-Enough, you two!- Ironhide snapped, cutting in on their conversation. Sunstreaker shifted away from where he had moved to converse with Wheeljack. -Six clicks and counting. Expect the guards at any moment now. You are not to engage them until I say. We'll be employing a Delta-Six infiltration pattern, just remember that the courier group will not be visible because they're underground.-

-Tell me again how you plan to get us _out_ of this mess, preferably alive.- Sideswipe's glee at getting to rip apart Decepticons was tempered by his consternation at not knowing whether or not he would have an escape route should something go wrong.

-There's no time,- Optimus said from where he traveled with Inferno's squad. -We've been spotted by the Seekers.- Wheeljack didn't need to adjust his sensor range to pick up the tell-tale energy signatures of Seekers as they rapidly approached the other squad.

He also noticed the signal of a second Seeker wing heading straight for his own squad.

-Bluestreak will be fine,- Sunstreaker said to him.

-What?- But the gold mech had closed the comm line, not a moment too soon as the Seekers swept down on the group, weapons blazing.

* * *

Perceptor flinched at the sound of gun fire, distant though it was. He cautiously raised his head above the edge of the small crevasse in which he was hiding. A click or so to the southwest, a wing of Seekers was harassing one of the Autobot squads as the smaller mechs dodged plasma bursts and null-rays, still racing toward the command center. A click beyond them was another Autobot squad, being pursued by a second wing of Seekers. There was only a hint of activity at the command center's outer guard wall, the shifting of massive turrets to aim at the Autobots that foolishly approached.

Shockwave had made many changes to this place since the scientist had last visited. He could only hope nothing beneath the complex had changed too much.

"That's our cue," Firestar said softly, sliding down into the bottom of the crevasse, where she crouched in front of her squad. "We'll follow this canyon around to the east side of the command center." She turned to Perceptor. "How close do we need to get to find the tunnels?"

"The lower level extends three point four clicks beyond the outer wall," he quickly answered. "Only it's protected by the surface, which is far too thick for us to get through, and to my knowledge no access shafts have been made that far away from the complex itself..." He trailed off when he noticed the very unamused look Firestar was giving him. "The first one with an access is about one point seven five clicks away from the outer wall," he summarized sheepishly.

"Too visible..." Firestar muttered to herself. "Can't do anything about it. Let's go."

"Times like this, I wish Hound was with us," Trailbreaker said to Perceptor as the entire group transformed into their alt modes.

"As do I," the scientist replied. He felt a tingling in his sensors as Trailbreaker powered up his energy shield, and then nothing. That was one thing they had failed to mention to the Autobots: Sure, Shockwave's guards would have trouble sensing them through the shield, but the Autobots would likewise have difficulty detecting anyone who approached them.

The squad was suddenly streaking through the crevasse at a breakneck pace. In places the canyon was only just wide enough to allow the larger soldiers through, but they didn't slow regardless of that fact. They couldn't waste time here, as there was no telling how long the other two squads could distract Shockwave.

_'Optimus would risk their lives, as well as his own, to rescue a single mech...'_ That was a distractingly depressing thought. Instead of dwelling on it, Perceptor turned his attention to following Firestar, and running through the layout of the space bridge in his processor. They were going to be entering at the wrong side of the complex, he realized. It shouldn't be difficult to get to where the crawl spaces would allow them to climb up into the command center itself, but crossing the distance to them would waste time.

-Here!- Perceptor said suddenly. -It's directly west of us.-

Firestar accordingly turned herself westward, shooting over the rim of the crevasse and across the metallic field that surrounded the command center. The rest of the squad followed, pushing their thrusters to the limit as they raced to reach the access shaft before the Decepticons could notice them.

No such luck. Though he could not sense them, Perceptor could clearly see the Seeker wing that dove at them from the higher parts of the space bridge complex.

-Ignore them!- Firestar commanded.

-But...- one of the soldiers started.

The Seekers let loose a volley of missiles...

...all of which missed the group, instead shattering the ground around them.

-They can't use their targeting systems on us,- the red femme said to her team. -They'll have to use visual only.- A much slower and less accurate method of trying to destroy one's enemies. Trailbreaker's shields were not only guarding them from Shockwave's scanners, but buying the soldiers time.

_'Perhaps we just might make it into the lower levels without loss of life...'_

-She learns quickly,- Trailbreaker commed to Perceptor, sounding pleased about this fact. He tended to like those individuals who figured out the many uses of his force fields without prodding.

Perceptor ignored that unspoken aspect of Trailbreaker's comment. The black mech was overly proud of his abilities, and would gladly expound upon them if given the chance. -She _is_ a squad leader. One needs smarts as well as physical prowess to hold that honor.-

The Seekers were circling above the Autobots, as if debating how to approach them with their favorite tactic now rendered useless. They seemed unconcerned with how close the Autobots were getting to the outer wall, happy to take their time in deciding how to kill the land-bound mechs.

_'Overconfident glorified cyberhawks.'_ Perceptor turned a few of his visual sensors skyward to watch the tetrajets float above them. _'They're getting lazy.'_ He focused on the wall before them again. _'Perhaps confronting lazy Seekers isn't necessarily a bad thing though.'_

-A bit further,- he commed to Firestar. -There will be a cover over it.- The femme replied with an affirmative code.

The sound of gears shifting and metal sliding across metal was heard from above. Perceptor looked up just in time to see a robot-mode Seeker drop from the sky, talons extended. The scientist flinched in reflex, expecting to feel the flyer's claws pierce his armor. Instead, the Seeker slammed hard into an unseen barrier and tumbled to the side, hitting the ground. Trailbreaker shuddered at the impact, his shield flickering briefly.

-Are you all right?- Firestar sent over the comm lines.

-Yes,- Trailbreaker replied, though he was subdued. -But I don't think I can stop another attack like that. My shields are made to stop weapons, not mechs.-

The Seekers were angry now, screeching their piercing shrieks that forced the Autobots to slow their pace due to the pain in their audio sensors and other sensitive body components. Just as the aerial soldiers moved to attack again, they suddenly abandoned their prey, shooting through the sky towards the command center.

-Well,- Firestar said after she had recovered from the sonic attack. -I think they've realized that Optimus is here.- Indeed, the place seemed to be crawling with Decepticons of all descriptions now, running along the top edge of the wall to meet the other Autobot squads.

From where he was, Perceptor couldn't see the front gates open, but he could see the swarm of Decepticons, drones and mechs alike, that poured out from within the complex, bringing the other Autobots' mad dash to a sudden halt as the soldiers reverted to their normal modes, bracing themselves for battle.

_'There's too many of them. Primus...they're going to be slaughtered...'_

-Now would be a good time to find that damn shaft,- Firestar said, her voice calm save for being at a slightly higher pitch than normal.

The scientist revved his engine in agreement. _'Let us not allowed their lives to go to waste.'_

* * *

Yes. Being an Autobot was definitely looking like a bad choice right now.

_How long had it been since he had last possessed the ability to think of something besides battle?_

Wheeljack lowered his wing-blades, then snapped them up, dislodging a smaller Decepticon from his back with a soft _snick_ and a rush of energon against his back plates as the 'Con's arms were severed. He spun around and shot the mech a few times in his chest for good measure.

It was bad enough that the Autobots were horrifically outnumbered here. What made matters worse was that Wheeljack couldn't even see another Autobot through the mass of Decepticons around him. He was on his own, and all that was left was to _fight_.

_Was there a time when he had known a life beyond fighting?_

Sideswipe had been one of the first to be pulled away from the group--literally. Two Seekers had come from out of nowhere, swooping down on him, the first knocking the red warrior to the ground, claws leaving deep grooves on his sleek armor. The second came down to pick him up and then shot straight into the air with his prize. Wheeljack hadn't seen the mech since.

_That's right, keep one optic on the sky or they'll get you. If they get you, there's no hope._

Cliffjumper had been cut off from the group when the first wave of Decepticon shock troops had reached them after realizing that Optimus was present. Brave though the little mech was, Wheeljack doubted he'd make it through this.

In a fit of rage, Sunstreaker had quite foolishly challenged a Seeker to hand-to-hand combat after verbosely insulting the flyer's mech-hood. Wheeljack had only been able to watch helplessly as the former gladiator was, like his brother, carried into the air, then tossed to the ground after the Seeker's knee joint was clawed out.

_A mech's life feels hot-cold against your armor, slick as his being ebbs away. It's comforting, somehow._

Wheeljack himself had gotten lost in the mass of Decepticons when the second wave hit _or was it the third?_, separated from his companions by the sheer numbers of Shockwave's minions. He now very much doubted he would be alive by the end of the cycle.

_As long as you're here you might as well fight. That's what you're here for. This is what it means to be a soldier._

He wasn't sure what bothered him more, the fact that he was likely going to die soon, or the realization that he didn't care. Life beyond fighting seemed like a distant dream now, all emotions numbed, the only thing remaining being the urge to struggle for one's life until the very end, the most basic programmed instinct of any life form, whether they be nanites or mechs.

_Shoot anything that approaches. Kill it. Don't let them touch you or you will get hurt._

_How long had those been the only thoughts running through his mind?_

_'I'm going to die. No more...no more...'_

_A soldier, a drone, that's what he was. Or was he? It's hard for him to remember._

In the midst of shooting Decepticons, Wheeljack had the briefest of glimpses of himself outside of this war. No, he was no mere nanite, nor was he a drone, not some senseless being who killed without feeling or purpose. He was a mech, an Autobot, the most renowned engineer on all of Cybertron, and he would not lose himself to this madness. He narrowed his optics, pausing with one hand clamped around a Decepticon's neck, the other aiming his arm-mounted gun at the mech's processor.

_'I will survive this,'_ he decided, determined. He raised him arm, slamming his gun into the Decepticon's head with enough force to crack and crush the dark green helm. _'Bluestreak can survive this. Can't be outdone by a youngling.'_

A smaller, faster Decepticon was lunging at him. He collided with the engineer, his sheer momentum toppling them both. The Decepticon hissed and dug his long, thin fingers around the joints of Wheeljack's mask in an attempt to rip it off. Wheeljack simply kicked at the mech, sending him flying. His face was smarting from where the 'Con's sharp-tipped fingers had cut through the plating around his mask, but he ignored it, jumping quickly to his feet and raising his guns once more.

_Bluestreak had almost died, and he had dug his hands into the youngling's chassis in an attempt to save his life._

_He knew Sunstreaker was somewhere out there, laughing at him, "I told you he's going to be fine. Stop whining and act like a mech, for Primus' sake."_

_Since when did his conscience sound like Sunstreaker? Damn him._

There was a trio of 'Cons in front of him, almost drone-like in how similar they were to one another. As one, they each reached behind their backs, then threw something at Wheeljack, the motions exactly in tandem. He only had the briefest of moments to register what had just happened.

Thermal grenades.

He raised his right arm in a futile gesture to block himself. They struck him. Something made a snapping noise.

Pain. Light. Searing heat.

_He'd done worse to himself in his lab._

He found himself slumped back against the outer wall, its surface crumbling from the force with which he had hit. Something was making a very painful clicking noise in his chest.

"Move it!"

He didn't have the time or energy to move. Someone threw himself protectively over Wheeljack, and the two cringed as a large section of the wall suddenly collapsed. Eventually, the noise of falling metal quieted, but the other mech didn't move.

"Hold still." Large black hands reached up to chip off some of the melted metal that had fused Wheeljack's chestplates together in several places.

"Ironhide?" Wheeljack was terrified when no sound escaped his vocalizer. He ran a quick scan on himself, frowning at the results he received. The gun on his right arm was useless, weapon welded to arm so well that he wouldn't be able to retract it, much less fire it. _'And my welder's under that mess. Slaggers.'_ There was serious damage to his upper chassis from the thermal grenades, and the delicate structures at the bases of his vocal resonators had been either broken or fused, which accounted for his lack of a voice.

-Ironhide?- he repeated, resorting to his comm system.

"You really do have a love affair with explosives, don't you?" the older mech growled.

-I can't talk.-

"I sort of like you better this way."

Wheeljack scowled behind his mask.

Ironhide shifted slightly, still holding up the pieces of the wall with his back and shoulders, creating a sort of cave of safety for the two Autobots. "You are going to stay right here until your self-repair systems can take care of some of this."

-But...-

"No. Stay here. They'll think you were killed by the falling debris. You're not going to be much use out there in your current condition anyway. If none of us get out of here alive, you--"

-No.-

Ironhide frowned at him. "Stop being such a sparkling." _That seemed to be the theme of this cycle for Wheeljack. What did it mean, really?_ Then the massive black mech slid out from under the pieces of the wall that had been lying across his back. They fell over Wheeljack, effectively shielding him. He heard Ironhide's cannons firing a few times, then the general din of battling mechs.

_'Slag it, I'm not just going to sit here.'_ He shifted slowly, shuddering at the jolting pain in his chest, and carefully moved a piece of debris so he could peer out at the battlefield. All he could see were Decepticons. _'If they're still coming out of the command center like that, I guess it means Optimus at least isn't down yet.'_

He quickly ducked back under the debris as a stray Seeker missile streaked towards the wall. He could feel the structure shake, and then the ground trembled as more of the wall collapsed. Once things were still again, he carefully emerged from his cave, painfully pulling himself out of the pile of scrap metal. The general battle had shifted away from his immediate area, now concentrated where he assumed Optimus must be. He stepped along the wall, using it for balance as he tried to find a good angle from which to attack the Decepticons once more. With his right arm rendered useless, he no longer had the option of using his cannon, and would have to rely on the gun one his left arm until he ran out of ammunition.

'_Should have made a second cannon...'_ he thought idly. Then he paused, watching a small Decepticon rush forward to attack something in the debris pile created by the second collapse of the wall. The 'Con's offense was short-lived, however, as he was suddenly caught in a set of golden claws, which tore into his armor with wild abandon.

_'Sunstreaker!'_ Wheeljack hurried towards him, ignoring the bothersome clicking in his chest. He scrambled up the side of the scrap pile, looking for a way to access the gold warrior.

Sunstreaker snarled as he clawed through the Decepticon's chest, hand closing around the unfortunate mech's spark casing and easily crushing it. Though his legs were effectively pinned by a large, flat piece of rubble, Sunstreaker was perfectly capable of using his hands to attack, and he did so with terrifying efficiency.

_There is something beyond killing: Protecting your comrades. Autobot soldiers fight, Autobot soldiers kill, but what makes them Autobots is their teamwork._

With the small Decepticon threat taken care of, Wheeljack made his way down to the debris that had Sunstreaker trapped. Squaring himself, he reached under the edge with both hands--though his right protested mightily--and strained to lift it. The rubble itself barely moved, but something in his chassis sure did. He winced.

Gold claws flashed up, missing his arms by mere marks, striking the surface of the wall fragment and dragging across it, leaving five deep, parallel marks. Wheeljack jumped back in surprise, nearly falling over as he momentarily lost his balance. -Frag it, Sunstreaker! It's me!-

His comm went unnoticed. Sunstreaker glared back, trying to twist himself around to strike with his other hand as he growled at the engineer, mouth opened in a vicious snarl to expose sharp teeth. But it was the look in Sunstreaker's optics that scared Wheeljack the most. Empty, feral, _murderous_. He had seen Sunstreaker angry plenty of times, but this...this was not Sunstreaker. This was a monster.

Wheeljack stared back in shock, unaware of the battle that still raged beyond them. _'Sweet Primus. He's insane.'_

_Fight, but beware of losing yourself._

"Out of my way." A mech brushed past Wheeljack, bringing him out of his stupor. The newcomer took a position on the other side of the rubble piece and attempted to lift it.

-Sideswipe?- Wheeljack could only stare dumbly. _'Forget Sunstreaker. One battle and I'm already losing my processor.'_

The red warrior, looking much worse for the wear, flashed him a glare. "Are you just going to stand there?" He paused, face set in an odd way that Wheeljack took to be him silently communicating with his brother. A moment later, Sunstreaker disengaged his claws from the rubble, transforming that arm into his cannon, which he smartly used to off any Decepticons that dared come too close to them.

Finally shaking himself back to reality, Wheeljack again curled his fingers beneath the piece of wall and lifted, ever mindful of Sunstreaker's angry growling. Slowly, the rubble rose.

Sideswipe grunted, obviously in pain. "How much higher?"

It took Sunstreaker a moment to answer. "Higher," he said in a low voice. He wasn't lucid enough to give a more precise reply. His brother winced as something in his shoulder sparked.

Wheeljack's arms were about to give out as well. -Can't go any higher,- he commed to Sideswipe, who ignored him.

Sunstreaker suddenly retracted his cannon, digging his claws into the ground as he tried to pull himself out from under the rubble. With a fair bit of effort, and the uncomfortable sound of metal snapping and scraping, he managed to free his legs. Immediately the two mechs holding the block of the wall released their grips, the debris dropping to the ground with a loud thump, causing the mound of rubble they stood on to shift slightly. Sideswipe brought up his guns to shoot at some Decepticons who had come too close for comfort in those few moments.

"Get me somewhere I can shoot from," Sunstreaker growled, sounding more like his normal sane, if still dangerous, self. Wheeljack glanced down at him; the gladiator's left leg had been completely crushed from the knee down, looking more akin to a pile of twisted slag metal than a limb.

Sideswipe jumped down from the debris pile and pulled his brother up. "No more taunting Seekers today."

"Don't tell me what to do." Sunstreaker wobbled a bit before finding his balance with the help of his twin.

Both brothers suddenly raised their weapons. Wheeljack followed their line of sight to see another contingent of Decepticons was coming right for them, already much closer than any of the Autobots liked.

'_Primus, not again.'_ Wheeljack couldn't even resist as they tackled him to the ground. The muzzle of a gun was pressed against his upper right arm. A moment later, a flare of agony and a shower of sparks came from that area. Stifling a pained cry, Wheeljack swung at the offending Decepticon with his operational left arm, knocking him aside just long enough to allow the engineer to shoot back.

_Fight to protect._

And then the _sound_. Autobot and Decepticon alike were temporarily stunned by the shrieking that had erupted in the air above them. Blinking back into awareness, Wheeljack looked up into the sky. And then blinked again, resetting his optics. He was surprised to find that he hadn't been deceived by his optics the first time.

Two Seekers, both in their normal modes, crashed into each other mid-air. It wasn't a collision due to miscalculated flight paths, or an injured Seeker being unable to swerve away. The things had purposely attacked each other, locked in a wrestling match as they plummeted to the ground.

_'What the frag?'_ Wheeljack stood slowly, right arm hanging limp as he watched the spectacle.

The Decepticons that had been fighting Wheeljack were equally confused. They collectively stared as the two flyers hit the ground and continued their duel where they had landed, kicking and scratching and screeching and rolling around as if their disagreement held far more importance than that silly war between Autobots and Decepticons.

Another Seeker came down to hover just above the Decepticons. "It's the gestalt leader! Get him while he's on the ground!" He gesticulated wildly in the general direction of the fighting Seekers before taking off for them himself. The Decepticons quickly followed.

Now more befuddled than ever, Wheeljack quickly glanced around the battlefield. There were more Seekers in the sky performing the same duel that he had just witnessed. Many of the Decepticons were turning their attention on shooting at these wayward aerial soldiers instead of the Autobots, giving Wheeljack a strange sort of respite. Elsewhere, Wheeljack could see Optimus engaged in a shooting match with an even larger mech, who seemed unperturbed by the Prime's ion cannon blasts. There was an arc of Autobots behind the Prime that took care of any Decepticons attempting to attack him from that angle, allowing Optimus to concentrate only on Shockwave.

"Thought I told you to stay under the rubble." Ironhide had taken up a defensive stance at Wheeljack's back.

-Sunstreaker needed my help.- Wheeljack raised his left arm, aiming for one of the Decepticons who hadn't run to attack the Seekers.

Whirr, click, _boom_. Ironhide had found something to shoot at. "I don't suppose you've figured out why most mechs wouldn't bother, have you?"

He shuddered involuntarily.

Ironhide correctly construed Wheeljack's silence to mean an affirmative. "As un-Autobot as it sounds, it's usually better to leave them to their own devices at times like this. They'll comm if they require assistance."

-Could have told me beforehand.- Wheeljack fired a few times at the 'Con, wincing at the pain in his elbow from the recoil. _'Damn, thought I had that fixed.'_

"Thought you'd be able to figure it out on your own. You wouldn't have listened to me anyway."

-Probably not...Seeker incoming.- He drew a bead on the mech.

The Seeker came lower, then suddenly backed off as he noticed the two Autobots aiming at him. "No, no! Don't shoot!" he called down to them. "I'm not a Decepticon!"

Ironhide snorted, not lowering his cannons.

"Please..." The Seeker tried his approach again, then landed in front of them, a fair distance away. "You need to get out of here while you still can." He was glancing around nervously, keeping a wary optic on the airspace above him.

"I only follow orders given by Optimus," Ironhide growled.

"We're giving him a chance to escape too."

-What is he going on about?- Wheeljack risked a glance at Ironhide.

-No idea.- The old soldier readied his cannons. "You have two astroseconds to get out of my range."

The Seeker looked almost saddened. "Just go," he said. "Your work here is done." Then he leapt into the air, transforming into a tetrajet, and zipped off. He was soon tailed by another wing of Seekers, who fired angrily at him.

Ironhide looked thoughtful, and also rather displeased at the thoughts he was having. "He's right."

-What?- The engineer faced him.

-We're leaving. Now. Get yours afts out of here,- Ironhide commed to his squad.

-Sunny's down,- Sideswipe replied, his line staticky.

-Then drag him back to the base.- Ironhide was suddenly transforming into his hefty low-slung vehicular mode.

-What's going on?- Wheeljack demanded. For once, he really wished his resonators were operational so Ironhide could see how irritated he was at not receiving all the relevant information.

-Optimus commed...- Ironhide was already gunning away from the command center.

Wheeljack looked back to the place he had last seen Optimus battling with Shockwave, and saw that the Prime was also racing away from the scene. Taking his place were five Seekers that dove and circled the Decepticon, firing alternately at him and the other Seekers that harassed them. Suddenly the five went down, disappearing into the mob of Decepticons that surrounded Shockwave.

_'Some help that was.'_ Wheeljack carefully lowered himself into his hovercar form, finding it took a few tries to get his right arm transformed enough to be suitably tucked away into the side of the vehicle. Then he looked over at the Seekers one last time.

The Seekers were amazingly standing. No, not really standing. They were pulling together, unfolding and folding and shifting and rising higher and higher. He saw massive clawed forelimbs emerge, large Seeker-like legs, wing-like projections sticking out everywhere from a body that towered over Shockwave, a smallish head with a sharp-toothed mouth from which came a thundering roar that scattered the smaller Decepticons.

_'Primus.'_ That was all Wheeljack could think.

-Wheeljack!- Ironhide shouted at him over the comm lines. -Get moving!-

He complied, firing up his thrusters and shooting away from the command center. -It's...they're...- _'Primus. A Seeker gestalt team.'_ The engineer in him immediately wondered how such a gestalt could have possibly been created, but then he remembered what the giant combiner was doing for the Autobots. Forcing himself to look away from the epic battle that was now taking place, Wheeljack hurried after his fellow Autobots as they retreated. Injured as he was, he was having difficulty maintaining his rapid pace, but he couldn't slow down. He had to get _away_. Before he lost his life here, or worse, lost _himself_, the way Sunstreaker so obviously had.

_He had told himself earlier that he would survive this, and he wasn't one to go against his word._

They were nearly five clicks away before he remembered why they had gone to the space bridge command center to begin with. -What about Firestar's squad?- he asked Optimus.

-They were able to escape as well,- the leader replied. -Though they may be forced to sit in one of the Neutral towns for a few cycles before returning to the base.-

A few wings of Seekers swept by overhead, dropping the occasional bomb on the fleeing Autobots. Wheeljack simply swerved to avoid them, although his movements were far more sluggish than he was accustomed to.

There was something else, he thought. Not Firestar and her squad. The reason that squad had been inside the complex.

Kree.

Wheeljack slowed, even as the Seekers still passed by overhead, looking for targets. Why were they leaving without Kree? Or had he escaped with Firestar?

He sped up again, though worry was clouding his processor. He had only known the Jhiasian for a short time, but Wheeljack had grown fond of the spindly mech despite his eccentricies.

Again the Seekers swept down on the Autobots. One dropped something that caused Inferno to reflexively brake so quickly that he nearly spun out of control. The mechs behind him likewise halted, coming to rest in a semi-circle around the object the Seeker had dropped. They were silent and still as they observed it.

Wheeljack was able to slow a little more gracefully, nudging a couple Autobots aside so he too could look.

He wished he hadn't.

Lying on the ground in front of them was the limp form of a slain Jhiasian ambassador.


	11. The Past is Never Really

Sometimes, Fireflight knew things. Maybe they were memories. Maybe they were just some innate knowledge he had. He could never tell which the case was, and it rarely occurred to him to try to figure it out. It didn't matter how he knew something, just that he knew it.

Right now, he knew something had happened. Some big, something that had made him not-him, but part and whole of Something More. He had experienced this before, the remembering of the Something More, but he could never remember actually being the Something More. These blank spots in his memory always had scary thoughts associated with them. Fireflight was at a loss as to why the Something More had scary thoughts with it every time he realized the Something More must have happened again, and this time was no different.

He couldn't even remember exactly how long ago he was the Something More. It must have been recently, because he still felt fuzzy and achy from it. He had gotten hurt because of the Something More, that's why he was in the medbay now. He and his wingmates had been in here for a while, ever since they had been the Something More. They wouldn't tell him what had happened to put them in the medbay, or even how they had arrived here from Iacon, but he got the impression that it had been a good thing that had landed them here, so he didn't press for a more precise answer.

Silverbolt was elsewhere in the medbay. Fireflight couldn't see him from where he sat, but the rest of the wing was nearby, and that comforted him in the absence of the wing leader. Skydive was sitting next to him on the table, quiet as always, while Slingshot and Air Raid perched on the table to his right, blocking his view of the rest of the medbay. Fireflight craned his neck, trying to see around them, curious about the room that was hidden from his sight. He had caught glimpses of other mechs in the medbay, and he wanted to get a better look at them. He liked seeing them because they were all ground-mechs, and he had never been near ground-mechs that he could remember. He was curious about them.

He asked for Air Raid and Slingshot to move so he could see, but they were not so enthusiastic about the ground-mechs, ignoring them and Fireflight's request in favor of huddling together on their table. Some part of him understood why they acted like that, some hidden part of his mind that said Seekers should not associate with ground-mechs. He didn't want to believe that. He liked ground-mechs, he thought.

Silverbolt was calling for them. The wing stood, the tables creaking as they were relieved of the weight of the Seekers atop them. The four mechs closely followed their leader as he made his way past the numerous tables of the medbay, weaving around the medics as they worked on repairing the ground-mechs. Fireflight wanted to stay and watch the goings-on, but his fear of being left alone overcame his curiosity, and he stayed with his wingmates instead.

Then he caught a glimpse of a familiar yellow-green mech. Fireflight paused, turning his head to look back at him. It was the same medic from beneath the roadway in Iacon, the one who had repaired him after the other Autobots had hurt him. He still didn't understand why they had done that when all he had wanted was for them to stay and talk with him, but the medic had made him feel better. The medic had fixed him.

His wing hadn't had a medic to care for them since before he could remember. But now there were medics. He watched this one as he walked around, busy with his work. The medic seemed tired, moving stiffly as he worked--injury. Fireflight knew, even with his broken processor, what it looked like when a mech was trying to not stress an injury.

He knew his processor was broken, but he didn't know why, or how it had happened, or when. Sometimes he had trouble even remembering that it was broken.

Medics fixed things.

He turned, purposefully striding towards the yellow-green medic, his desire to follow his wingmates suddenly trumped by his new goal. He didn't slow his approach until he was close to the other mech. "Ratchet." He wasn't sure why he said that word, or what it meant, it just came out of his vocalizer.

The medic stopped what he was doing, tiredly turning to face Fireflight. His blue optics were dim and distant.

The Seeker immediately hunched himself over so he would be at the medic's height and turned his head downwards, as if offering it to the other. "Fix," he said into his chest.

The medic didn't say anything, didn't so much as move.

"Fix?" he tried again. He tilted his head slightly, putting his view of his feet at an angle. "Please?"

"Fireflight..."

Why wasn't the medic fixing him? "Fix my head? _Fix?_" Fireflight took a small step forward and waited. Medics fixed things. Medics could fix his processor. They _had_ to fix his processor! If his processor was fixed, he wouldn't have so many blank spots in his memory, and he could be a better wingmate, and he could fly better, and Slingshot wouldn't shout at him so much, and maybe, just maybe, Silverbolt would stop worrying about everything and be happy again. Fireflight felt he needed to tell the medic this, so he would understand how badly the Seeker wanted things to be not-broken any more. But he wasn't quite sure exactly how to tell the medic. "Seeker...Seeker Fireflight...put in stasis mode...repair lag?" Those words had been said in a medbay once, he remembered, although he wasn't quite sure what they meant. Surely the medic would understand. "Fix?" There. That should be enough. He clicked to himself, waiting for the medic to do his work.

The medic was silent for a long time. That was okay. Fireflight was patient. Finally, the medic spoke. "I can't."

_'Can't?_ Can't?_'_ He didn't move from his begging pose. He just needed to wait more, that was all...

"Fireflight!" It was Silverbolt.

_'Silverbolt!'_ Fireflight's head snapped up as he whuffed happily, the medic forgotten as he trotted to his wing leader. He followed Silverbolt out of the medbay and into the hallway beyond.

This was a new place, he suddenly noticed. He didn't know these walls. There were several shining things along the wall and above his head on the ceiling. He curiously observed them, his optics pinning at their brightness. The shining things were bright like the sun, but they were not the sun. He pondered that for a moment. _'That's it, they're light panels, for indoors.'_ He remembered light panels from long ago, from faded memories that existed before any of his memories of the Something More. Light panels...inside...rooms...

His mind suddenly made the connection. They were indoors. Not under the street. Not in Iacon. Indoors where there were no Decepticon Seekers to badger them. No Seekers here but themselves. _No Seekers!_

They didn't have to hide any more!

"Silverbolt!" Fireflight squealed as he bounded to his wing leader. "Silverbolt!"

Silverbolt looked back at him. "Yes?"

He ran up close before stopping, his neck guard lifted in excitement as he stood on his toes. He still had to stretch his neck up to be on the same optic level as the larger Seeker. "We're _inside_!" The wing flaps on his shoulders fluttered gleefully. They were inside and safe and there were medics and _no more Decepticons_!

Silverbolt simply looked down at him. "We are, yes."

Fireflight strutted around in a circle, giddy with joy. So much delight filled his mind, he couldn't remember exactly why he was so happy to begin with. But it felt good. Whatever the reason was, it had to be very happy indeed because Silverbolt was letting him prance about like this.

"Come on, Fireflight. Off to the washracks."

He paused in his circle. What was a washracks? The word was bringing up faint memories, but he couldn't quite see them. No matter, that was where Silverbolt was going, and he would follow his wing leader. He briefly broke into a trot to catch up with Silverbolt once more.

Things were finally good again.

* * *

-Wheeljack, where are you?-

The engineer venter a soft sigh and rubbed the edge of his helm. The training rooms were off-limits thanks to his still-healing injuries. The lab and storerooms were off-limits due to the cryo needle incident. The medbay was off-limits as well, not that it was anywhere he wanted to go to begin with. He dared not go back to his quarters, no matter how badly he needed to recharge. The cyberhawks were still waiting there, just waiting for him to slip into recharge so they could carry him away over that energon-stained battlefield to the Pits beyond.

-Rec room, where else?- Wheeljack sent back to Ironhide. It was the only place he could get some semblance of peace, though with the way Sideswipe was acting now, the rec room was quickly becoming a much less agreeable place to stay.

-You're needed in the washroom.- The short tone Ironhide was using indicated quite clearly that he was not enjoying his temporary tenure as the Mech in Charge of All Things during Prowl's stay in the medbay.

-Ironhide...-

-Those slagging Seekers tear up this place worse than you ever could. Got three washracks out of commission now thanks to them.-

-I'm not fixing the damn washracks,- Wheeljack snarled.

-You're-- -

-Get Grapple to do it.-

-He's in no condition to be working right now, you know that.-

-We'll survive without three washracks until he's able to get to them.- With that, Wheeljack forcibly shut of fhis comm line and finished the cube of high-grade he unsteadily held in his hand. Even if he had been in an agreeable enough mood to work on the washracks, he wouldn't have been able to. Lack of recharge was starting to wear on him. As was the presence of a certain red mech.

_'And here comes Sideswipe again.'_ Wheeljack barely glanced up at the gladiator, busy as he was with concentrating on not landing another punch on Sideswipe's pale face. _'Damn it, I'm not in the mood for this.'_ He cautiously reopened his comm line and was relieved to find that Ironhide was not waiting there to berate him for yet more insubordinate behavior. -Sunstreaker.-

The warrior's response was immediate. -_What?_-

-I'm not exactly happy to be talking to you, either.-

-Then get to the point or leave me alone.-

-Your brother is so overcharged, he's trying to solicit a bond from _me_.-

Sunstreaker gave a short, derisive laugh, not a particularly pleasant sound, especially over the comm line. -My brother, the whore! I was wondering if he'd ever get around to you.-

-Make him stop.- In his barely-contained ire, Wheeljack sent a burst of static through the line.

-Can't. Even if I could, I wouldn't.-

-Hate me that much, huh?-

-No. My reasons are not your concern.-

-He's _your_ brother! Make him _leave me the frag alone_!-

-Primus, stripe-aft. Just ignore him. That's what everyone does. Or better yet...- There was a brief pause. -Ratchet wants you in the medbay.- The comm line clicked off.

Just the excuse Wheeljack had been waiting for to get away from an increasingly overcharged, and insistent, Sideswipe. Without a word, and still trying his hardest to not throttle the red twin, Wheeljack pushed his chair back and stood in one smooth motion, not flinching at the new wave of pain that wracked his body from the sudden movement. Sideswipe thankfully did not follow him as he left the rec room, and Wheeljack pitied whoever the gladiator chose to bother next.

Though many mechs, in various stages of repair, milled about in the hallways, the base was eerily quiet. It was the sort of uneasy silence that always followed something horrific or uncomfortable that everyone knew about but didn't want to discuss. Even those few mechs who had not been present at the battle against Shockwave's troops were subdued. Wheeljack hated it. He wanted to do something, anything, to make them talk again, like they had talked when he had first come to the base. Maybe then he could forget about the cyberhawks so he could recharge at long last, then his body could heal already and he could set his mind in order once more.

He looked up as he neared the medbay, just in time to see Sunstreaker exit through those infamous doors. The golden warrior's face was twisted into the deep scowl that had been his expression ever since he had arrived back on base. A quick glance at Sunstreaker's formerly crushed leg, which was still only partially repaired and minus its most beautiful armor, revealed the biggest reason as to why Sunstreaker was in such a foul mood.

Sunstreaker gave Wheeljack a glare as he neared the engineer, limping slightly on account of his armorless leg. Wheeljack returned the look. Neither of them felt it would be worth the risk to open their comm lines to engage in another discussion that was bound to turn into a nasty argument. Ratchet had already silenced their vocalizers thanks to their almost ceaseless bickering in earlier cycles. There was no telling what the CMO might do next.

They brushed past each other in silence, Sunstreaker disappearing down the hall and Wheeljack stepping into the doorway of the medbay. He hesitated there, unsure of what Ratchet's mood would be this cycle. Cautiously, he glanced over the medbay interior. Most of the tables were still occupied by those mechs who had been struck the worst by the brutalities of war, all of them offline until the medics deemed them stable enough to function on their own. All except for Prowl, who was sitting up on one table, leaning back against the wall as he read over a datapad. His curved wing panels were conspicuously missing, replaced by a handful of tubes and wiring that connected the lieutenant to medical monitors. Prowl looked up briefly as Wheeljack entered, then returned to his reading.

"Get in here."

Ah, so Ratchet was in a better mood today.

Wheeljack eyed the medic carefully before sitting on the edge of the indicated table. Ratchet followed him, his movements still slow and stiff. The medic hadn't had the time to fully repair himself before jumping right back into his duties as CMO upon arrival at the base. He hadn't even had a chance to construct himself a new arm, instead only able to take a few breems to deaden the sensors in his shoulder and stop the leaking of fluids from the torn joint so he wouldn't be distracted as he worked on other mechs. The lack of his right arm didn't detract from his skills in this slightest, but it sure did make him crankier than usual.

"You going to stop baiting Sunstreaker, or do I need to leave your vocalizer disconnected for another joor?" Ratchet gave the engineer a look that was some cross between irritation and exhaustion.

Wheeljack frowned and lit his resonators until they gave off a bright rosy light.

Ratchet sighed in exasperation, briefly shuttering his optics.

-I can't help that everything I say makes him want to kill me.- Wheeljack added, softly, -Can't help that the feeling's mutual.-

"I don't fragging care that you don't like him. I don't know anyone who does, besides his brother. If you're going to insist on picking fights with him, you're going to find yourself dead one of these times and it's going to be your own damn fault. But I'll be slagged if you--"

-Him trying to kill me in the middle of a fragging battle is _my_ fault?-

The gaze Ratchet leveled at him was a cold one indeed. "How should I know? I wasn't there. Are you going to stop acting like a glitching sparkling or should I just remove your vocalizer and save myself the trouble later?" He waited for an answer; Wheeljack gave him none. "Then don't make me regret this." Ratchet tapped a finger against the underside of the engineer's chin. Wheeljack obligingly tilted his head back, and the medic set to work.

-Where the frag does he think he can get off with attacking other Autobots, anyway?-

The CMO slid a few wires into place in Wheeljack's neck. "It's not your concern."

-It is when he tries to kill me!- Wheeljack tried to glare at the CMO, but the look was totally lost, as he was staring at the ceiling.

"You just worry about doing what you're ordered."

Wheeljack winced as something gave him a small shock under his jaw. -I've spent most of my life in charge of the Etraum labs. Can't say I'm very inclined to enjoy having someone else lord over me. I'm not-- - There was another shock, and he felt a tingle of electricity as his vocalizer started up again. Ratchet stepped back, finished with the repairs, waiting for reassurance that he had done a satisfactory job. Wheeljack rubbed at his neck as he attempted to speak. His vocalizer only produced garbled static on the first few tries, then it snapped back into gear. "Can I go now?" Oh, it was nice to be able to talk again.

Ratchet's expression had changed from one of tired annoyance to something more thoughtful, as if the medic could see right through Wheeljack. "No," he said. "Well, you can, if you don't care that your arm is still half slagged to the Pits and most of your armor is too melted to be of any use. Then by all means, get out of my medbay. Otherwise, shut up and let me do my work." Again that penetrating gaze. "When was the last time you recharged?"

"Dunno," Wheeljack said off-handedly. _'Do you really think I'd tell you on the first asking even if I knew? Come on, you know I'm more ornery than that.'_

"You're wearing yourself down, and I'll be slagged if you make more work for me yet again."

_'He can tell that just from looking at my vocalizer?'_ The engineer eyed at Ratchet suspiciously.

"You're not going to be of any use to anyone if you don't get some rest."

"Can't." He didn't know why he just admitted that.

For a few moments, the CMO just continued looking at him. "You should talk with Bluestreak some time." And with that, Ratchet was back to his usual gruff mannerisms. "Lay down so I can fix your arm already."

* * *

He never did find out exactly why Ratchet had wanted him to talk to Bluestreak, partly because once Bluestreak was online again, he immediately set to making up for all the talking he had missed. Wheeljack very quickly gave up on trying to talk with him and settled into listening to the youngster's babbling once more. He was surprised to find exactly how much he had missed Bluestreak's company, and the comfort he found in the sniper's enthusiasm for everything. Despite this, it was still over two joors later before Wheeljack could recharge again. After he was rested, he was once again put to work fixing the random things that broke around the base, most of which lately could be attributed to the Seeker gestalt team that had moved in.

He still hated repair duty, but at least it gave him something to do.

In those times when there was nothing to fix, no Bluestreak around to listen to, no training to be done, Wheeljack found his mind still drifted back to the battle, and those cyberhawks would come back. They circled just around the edge of his perception, crying out to one another as they drifted through the air, plotting amongst themselves.

It was during one of these quiet times that Wheeljack found himself in the lab, despite still being barred from it. Why he had chosen such a quiet place when he didn't really want silence, he didn't know, but it seemed to be a better idea than dealing with the other Autobots at the moment. So he simply sat in a chair, his back to the door as he slouched in the seat, finding some sort of companionship with the near-darkness of the room. How long had it been since he had been able to do anything in here? Or anything besides repairs and training?

_'Primus, I need something to do before I go crazy.'_

On a whim, he opened the hold on his side and withdrew the datapad within, lighting it. A string of glyphs scrolled across the top of the display before bringing up the first of many screens of such glyphs, complete with a simplistic holographic diagram of a massive Jhiasian Seeker-hunter that hovered above the screen. Wheeljack just looked at it tiredly for a few moments before turning off the hologram and idly tapping the datapad against the table to his right.

_'Why him?'_

_War touches even those who should not be touched by it._

Wheeljack frowned. Every so often, that voice that had been with him during the battle would still whisper to him, and he never liked it any more each time it did. _'But he accepted it. Why the frag can't I? I should be able to, I'm a fragging...'_

He heard shouting through the wall that separated the lab from the medbay, and he glanced in that direction. Ratchet, as usual. Sounded like he had caught Red Alert linking to the network again, even though the security director was under strict orders to _please refrain from doing so or I will remove your sensor nodes and may just forget to replace them later_.

A clank, a yelp, more shouting. Silence.

Wheeljack hoped the CMO hadn't thrown something at Red Alert's head, seeing as that was the only part of the mech that was useful.

A shaft of bright light suddenly streamed across the lab floor, accompanied by the soft hiss of the doors opening. Wheeljack squinted against the light. He thought he heard someone call his name, but he wasn't sure. Maybe it was just the hydraulics in the doors. There it was again. Definitely someone calling him. The engineer lifted his head as a large form entered the room to stand at his left. "I thought you were banned from being in the lab," Optimus Prime said softly.

"Banned from working in the lab," Wheeljack said sullenly. "I'm sitting, not working."

Optimus shifted, his heavy footsteps making the floor tremble slightly, until he was standing in front of the engineer. "Jazz was telling me you had some project in mind involving drones and Seekers."

Wheeljack looked up at the Autobot leader. Yes, he did have such a project planned. Kree had...was...Kree was dead...

"Care to elaborate?"

All that was left of him was in the datapad. He tapped the pad against the table a few more times. He had read through the whole file several times. There were still so many things he wasn't quite clear on, some strange word usage that he was sure must have made sense in Jhiasian but didn't so much in Cybertronian. There were enough of those odd turns of phrase that many parts of the file were unintelligible to Wheeljack.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed between the Prime's question and now, but he was getting the impression that Optimus was a rather patient mech.

"Kree told me how Jhiasians hunt coneheads," Wheeljack said at last. "I was just...thinking about how to make a drone that did the same thing."

Optimus raised an optic ridge, clearly intrigued. "You think you could do that?"

"I don't know. I've never made a drone that specialized or complex before, and definitely not as big as these will have to be."

"There's other mechs who could help."

"Who, Perceptor?" Wheeljack laughed, though it sounded strained even to his audios. He could only imagine the carnage that would ensue if he was forced to work with a scientist. "I'm not sure he has the kind of knowledge and experience needed for this project. Besides..." Wheeljack lifted his hand, showing the datapad to the mech in front of him. "I can't understand some of this. Kree...wasn't so great with Cybertronian."

"There's a few mechs here who are good with language. They could probably clarify it for you."

"Really."

If Optimus heard the sarcasm in that, which he probably had, he didn't make any indication of it. "Sideswipe would be your best bet."

"Sideswipe?" Optimus only nodded slightly. Wheeljack felt his grip on the datapad tighten. "I doubt he would be very willing to help me." _'And whose fault would that be, you glitch?'_

The Prime shrugged. "I'm sure you could find some competent help, which you may need since you are still banned from doing work in here." He gave Wheeljack a small, mysterious smile.

"I wouldn't have called half the engineers in Etraum 'competent help'." _'But Primus, what I wouldn't give to have them around now.'_ He glanced up at Optimus again. "Wait, is this your way of saying I can work on this project?"

"If you can get me a plan for such drones by the end of the joor."

"The end of the joor? Is that a challenge?" He mulled it over briefly. "I can do that."

Optimus nodded. "Then I'll be sure you get what support and materials we can give. You're welcome to use whatever you find in the storerooms."

"I'm still banned from the storerooms, remember?"

"And half of the rest of the base, yes." Optimus waved a hand dismissively. "I outrank Ironhide, you know. Consider the bans lifted."

Wheeljack smiled then. "Thanks."

"But if I hear of anything exploding or you injecting yourself with dangerous chemicals again, I'll be forced to restrict you to the east wing of Level 2 until I feel like letting have free reign of the base again."

The engineer quickly ran through a schematic of the base in his mind. "The barracks and washracks? Not even going to give me the rec room?"

"The rec room has the high-grade. You're not going near that stuff if you're going to insist on causing nearly-lethal accidents every joor."

Wheeljack had to chuckle at that. It wouldn't be the first time he had been barred from consuming high-grade.

"I want the plans in my hands by the end of the joor," Optimus said, much of the levity gone from his voice as he stepped to the side, then made his way to the entrance of the lab.

A project with an actual deadline. _'It's been too long.'_ "You'll have them."

The large mech's footsteps slowed, then stopped. "Wheeljack?" he said after a moment.

"Hmm?"

"What do you know about Epsilon-class hyperdrive engines?"


	12. Etraum

Hey guys! Sorry it's taken me so long to get another chapter up.

Anyway, I had wanted to write an Interlude chapter (ie, a relatively short and light-hearted), but obviously, that didn't happen. Because I can't decide what the subject should be. So I need your help. **What would you like the next Interlude to be about?** Any questions about the story you want to see answered? Any odd tidbits you'd like to see explained? Any ideas at all?

* * *

It wasn't that Wheeljack hated asking for help. What he hated was _who_ he had to ask for help. Back in Etraum, he had any number of qualified mechs he could consult, all of whom he knew and trusted. Here with the Autobots, there was only one mech he could consult, and he did not trust that mech in the slightest.

But it was either get this mech's help, or make potentially embarassing and completely avoidable mistakes in programming, something Wheeljack already had enough trouble with under normal circumstances. So it was that, after providing Optimus with the agreed-upon designs for Seeker-killing drones, the engineer went on a hunt for a certain red-armored gladiator.

Unfortunately for him, Sideswipe had an uncanny ability to sense when someone was looking for him, and an equally uncanny ability to hide himself from the one doing the looking. Wheeljack quickly discovered that if there was one thing more aggravating than dealing with the mech on a daily basis, it was trying to pin him down when he decided to pull a disappearing act.

_'The base is not that fragging big. How can a mech his size hide so well?'_ This was followed by more thoughts of exactly how Wheeljack would hurt Sideswipe when he found the slagger. That was the only way he could think of to properly express his sheer frustration for how many cycles his drone project had been set back due to Sideswipe's refusal to cooperate. Of course, that course of action would only set the project back even further, so Wheeljack instead doubled his efforts to locate the red twin before that time was lost.

At long last, he was able to catch Sideswipe in one of the lesser-used hallways of Level 2. The gladiator seemed to be pointedly ignoring Wheeljack as he headed for the barracks. _'This is going to hurt.'_ "Sideswipe."

Sideswipe half-turned to look back at the engineer, his faceplates twitching into a faint frown. "What do you want?"

"I need your help." _'Oh yes. That hurt.'_

He had seen that sadistic smile on Sunstreaker before. For some reason, it was much more alarming coming from Sideswipe. "Really." He shifted until he was fully facing Wheeljack and crossed his arms over his chest. It was a most unfriendly gesture.

Wheeljack made sure to keep himself well beyond Sideswipe's reach. "You know Jhiasian."

If only he had saved a still of the expression on Sideswipe's face then. It was the briefest flash of something so unlike Sideswipe's normally half-feral, half-idiotic demeanor, something--dare Wheeljack think it--almost _intelligent_ and yet so confused at the same time. Sideswipe settled back into a frown quickly enough, as if trying to hide that momentary lapse of his facade. "What the frag makes you think I know Jhiasian?"

"Optimus told me."

The red twin's face went through another series of expressions that switched mostly between anger and betrayal. The prolonged silence this produced was most uncharacteristic of him, and Wheeljack revelled in the fact that he had been the one to cause it. After a while, Sideswipe composed himself enough to say, "My help does not come free."

Wheeljack groaned inwardly. Owing Sideswipe a favor was not a position he wanted to be in. "Take that up with Optimus."

Sideswipe, however, was in his element now, and he enjoyed his command over the situation the way Wheeljack had enjoyed his moment of glory just astroseconds earlier. "No, I think I'll take it up with you, seeing as you're the one who's asking. What exactly do you need my help with?"

"It's..." He found himself suddenly unsure of exactly how much Sideswipe should know about the drones.

Again that sadistic smile. "I can't exactly help you if I don't know what I'm helping with, can I?"

"You sure you can stop that vocalizer of yours from telling the entire army about this?"

"Don't insult me." Sideswipe feigned offense. "I can keep a secret."

Wheeljack sighed softly. _'I'm sure you can.'_ "It's a file Kree wrote for me about Seeker-killing techniques. There's some things he wasn't able to translate well. I need help figuring out what he meant, so I can use it in some programming I need to do."

And that had Sideswipe, self-proclaimed Seeker killer, intrigued. "I see." He paused, thinking. "My help still isn't free."

The engineer's wing-blades hitched up slightly in irritation. "I just let you in on this project. What else could you possibly want?"

"Five cubes of contraband, a couple capsules of 'nath, and a femme for the night."

Wheeljack was a little more than disturbed to realize Sideswipe was being perfectly serious.

Sideswipe snickered at Wheeljack's discomfort. "You're fun. What I want from _you_ is for you to be fix this." He ducked his shoulder, allowing Wheeljack to see his back. His red armor shifted, and two mechanical structures lifted and locked into place on the back of his shoulders.

The engineer lifted an optic ridge suspiciously. "Althin boosters? Those are illegal for non-flighted mechs to have. Were illegal. Before the war."

"Everything about me is illegal, stripey."

He lightly shuttered his optics at the unwanted nickname. _'Don't punch him. Whatever you do, don't punch him...'_

"Sunny's got 'em, too. We haven't been able to use them for vorns. They were disconnected, and we never could figure out how to fix them."

"I'm not going to fix something Ratchet disconnected." Messing with Ratchet's particular brand of punishment was perhaps the one thing worse than owing Sideswipe a favor.

Sideswipe glanced back at him. "You think Ratchet did this?"

"It's something he'd do."

"Well...yes. But he didn't. Not these. The fragging bastard who owned us in Kaon did this. Ratchet just 'hasn't gotten around' to fixing them."

The obviously loathing Sideswipe had for this 'fragging bastard' mech surprised Wheeljack. "Fine. I reconnect them, you explain to me what Kree was going on about." _'And if you're lying about who disconnected those boosters, I am going to hurt you. I'm going to hurt you so bad.'_

"Deal." The boosters retracted with a soft hiss-snap, leaving the smooth armor of Sideswipe's shoulders in their place.

"How in Primus's name do you know Jhiasian, anyway?"

"Now, now, Wheeljack. That's not part of the deal." Sideswipe stepped forward to give the white mech a none-too-gentle nudge, forcing him to turn back down the hallway, then draped his arm over Wheeljack's shoulders. "How about we go find my brother and see about getting these boosters fixed today, hmm?"

Wheeljack cringed at the gladiator's touch. "If you don't stop touching me in the next five astroseconds, I am going to rip those boosters right out of your body."

"You need to stop hanging around Ratchet," Sideswipe muttered as he moved away, breaking their physical contact.

The engineer swiveled his wing-blades up and down a few times, trying to clear Sideswipe's touch from his armor. "Why should I? The only thing that motivates you is a--" He stopped mid-sentence as he turned back into the main hallway to find himself face-to-face with Sunstreaker. The gold warrior was looking decidedly less fragged off than he had been lately, but still more fragged off than was probably good for Wheeljack, considering how close the two mechs were standing to one another and how highly Sunstreaker valued his personal space.

Surprisingly, Sunstreaker was content to ignore their proximity, or perhaps he wasn't aware of exactly how angry he looked. Wheeljack couldn't tell which the case was. "What th'frag do you want?" the gladiator slurred, as if his vocalizer wasn't responding the way he was used to. Ratchet must have finally seen it fit to give the gladiator his voice back.

Wheeljack tensed at the irritated question, only to realize a moment later that it had been directed at Sideswipe, not himself. "Our esteemed oft-exploding friend here is going to fix our boosters," Sideswipe proclaimed as he gave said friend a shove on his shoulder. A shove that was perhaps just a tad too rough to be exactly friendly.

"Don't touch me," Wheeljack repeated, slowly and pointedly enunciating his words so that even the youngest sparkling could have understood him.

"Really?" Sunstreaker sounded genuinely interested as he fell into stride with them, taking a position on Wheeljack's right side, sandwiching the unfortunate mech between himself and Sideswipe. Then he gave his brother a most suspicious glance. "You didn' whore yourself out for this, didya?"

"_Eugh_!" Wheeljack jumped forward. "No!"

"In a manner of speaking." He could hear the sly smirk in Sideswipe's words.

Daring to glance back, Wheeljack saw the brothers grinning identical feral grins at him. He hated that look. It never, ever meant anything good to whoever was on the receiving end. Making another disgusted noise, Wheeljack immediately set himself a new goal: getting to his lab as quickly and painlessly as possible..._if_ it was possible. _'Sweet Primus, I made a deal with the Unmaker himself.'_

"Just think, stripey. Once we've got our boosters back, there's no fragging way you can escape us!" Sideswipe sounded like a giddy child.

Wheeljack couldn't help the exasperated whine that crept into his voice. "Why in Primus's name would you want to stay near me? I sure as hell don't want to be near _you_."

The Twins were keeping pace almost exactly two strides behind him, as if they were stalking him. "'Cause you're a 4-Beta," Sideswipe replied. "4-Betas have to stick together, you know."

He really hoped they didn't see him flinch. _'How did they figure that out? Damn it, they're smarter than they let on.'_ "No, I don't know, nor do I care."

Sideswipe didn't seem to have heard him; this tended to happen whenever the red twin was on a roll with annoying someone. "You're fun," he said again, in a sing-song voice. Sunstreaker responded with a low rumbling that might have been distinguishable words had Wheeljack been close enough to hear them.

"Hey, Wheeljack!"

Wheeljack immediately turned his head to look for the mech who had called him. Any respite from the two terrors behind him was welcome, even if the respite was Bluestreak. He caught a glimpse of the sniper in the common room as he passed by, but before he could stop to talk, something struck him solidly just below his knees. He felt himself pitch forward, and his vision suddenly became a blur of light panels and silver wall tiles. Then he was face-first on the floor, chassis ringing with faint pain. "Oh...Primus..." he moaned into the floor. Loud, raucous laughter erupted from the two most annoying mechs in the Empire, making the sickening spinning of Wheeljack's processor even worse.

Someone was prodding his arm, as if attempting to roll him onto his back. "Oh! I'm so sorry! Are you hurt?"

He didn't recognize the voice--again with not recognizing someone's voice. That was becoming an annoying trend. With a bit of effort, the engineer pushed himself onto his back. When he opened his optics, his sight was filled by a a mask-like green face that was framed by an elaborate set of vents. The mech's blue optics focused on him with an unnerving intensity. Shouting in surprise, Wheeljack quickly scooted back from the stranger. From his new vantage point, he could see Sideswipe and Sunstreaker a few paces away, still laughing their afts off. Bluestreak peered sheepishly at him from the common room entrance, but quickly ducked back in when he saw Wheeljack's glare.

The vent-helmed mech wore a concerned expression, or what Wheeljack assumed as a concerned expression. It was hard for him to discern expressions on that facial type. The mech stood next to Wheeljack on his four sturdy legs, as if waiting for a command. "Are you hurt?" he repeated.

"I'm fine," Wheeljack snapped, more out of irritation with the Twins' continuing laughter than the fact that he had tripped over a smaller mech. He lurched to his feet and looked down at the other mech from his proper height. "What are you doing down there?"

"Scenting."

"What?" His shoulder twitched painfully, still smarting from his fall.

The smaller mech pulled himself up onto his hind legs. He was quite a bit taller than Wheeljack had expect. "I was determining which scents are typical of this facility so they don't confuse me." His forelimbs had been tucked neatly against his sides, allowing a smaller, more delicately-fingered pair of arms to unfold from his torso.

Wheeljack could only stare. Even Sunstreaker and Sideswipe quieted down somewhat at that comment.

"I have very sensitive olfactory sensors," the mech offered as an explanation.

"I...see." That was an odd trait for a Cybertronian to possess.

The green mech tilted his head apologetically. "I guess I shouldn't have been down this low in a busy area."

Sideswipe was still snickering. "Understatement."

"I'm Hound." He lifted his smaller hands in a slight gesture of greeting.

The engineer found it difficult to link the mech before him with the nearly-dead mess Ratchet had brought into the medbay not so long ago. Wheeljack had to hand it to the CMO. He was good at his job.

"You're Wheeljack, right?"

"Yeah." _'What the frag is it with mechs knowing who I am when I have no idea who they are? Am I _that _infamous?'_

"Bluestreak was telling me about you."

Wheeljack could hear a soft scraping sound as Bluestreak, who had been listening in, scooted away from the common room doorway again. "Was he now." _'Was he telling you how I was elbow-deep in his body, holding his life in my--_Primus_, he's fine, get over it!'_ He had to force himself out of his thoughts.

Hound was watching him silently, expression unreadable. The mech refrained from commenting on any extended silence Wheeljack's thoughts had produced. "He was. Well, you appear to be in a hurry. I'll let you get on your way." With that, Hound dropped back onto all fours, turning his attention to the corner between the floor and the wall. He trundled down the hallway, oblivious to the mechs walking by him and the strange looks they gave him.

The engineer craned his neck to watch Hound as he turned a corner. _'What an odd fellow.'_ Then someone touched his shoulder, making him jump slightly.

Sideswipe was still rumbling with quiet laughter, the soft buzzing of it transferring through his hand to Wheeljack's armor. "You sure you can handle fixing some boosters? I mean, you're awfully clumsy today, tripping over smaller mechs and all. Primus, how embarrassing for you."

"Did you trip over minis much in Etraum?" Sunstreaker asked, joining his brother's jibes at the engineer.

"The way he's always off in his head, I wouldn't doubt it. I guess they don't teach manners in...wherever the frag he was created. Where _were_ you created, anyway?"

"Gygax, judging by the accent."

"...Oh. _Oh_. Yes. Primus." Sideswipe was outright snickering now. "That explains a lot. That explains a _lot_."

Wheeljack clenched his hands into fists. _'For such damn smart fraggers, they sure do enjoy taking the cheapest, most juvenile shots possible.'_ He felt his resonators warm with a charge, and the structures lit with a faint pink glow. "If I give you Kree's file now, will you shut up until I'm done fixing your damn boosters?"

"It'd be worth a shot, wouldn't it?"

The reply was a datapad striking Sideswipe's helm with such force that the red warrior was sent staggering backwards, much to the amusement of his brother.

* * *

It was amusing how out-of-place Bluestreak was in the lab. He looked around the space curiously, almost eagerly, his optics wide as they strained to take in everything at once. Only his nervous stance betrayed his unease in the Room of Much Danger. His wing-panels were flared, twitching slightly, making Wheeljack himself jumpy just from looking at the young mech.

Which was why Wheeljack was staunchly keeping his back to him now. "For the last time, no."

"Please?" Bluestreak was doing a good job of being the pathetically adorable youngling. Not that pathetically adorable younglings were ever able to wheedle anything out of Wheeljack. "Ratchet says I'm fine, just no more trying to shoot Seekers from point-blank range, that's not my job and I'll get slagged. I mean, I'm supposed to snipe them instead, right? And he said I shouldn't try to run a Velocitronian course any time soon because my energon pump couldn't handle it, not that I'd want to anyway. I'm fast but I'm not that fast..."

"No." This time, Wheeljack did turn to the younger mech, trying to give him what he hoped was a rather exasperated look. "Perceptor and I can carry the things I need. He knows what they look like, and he knows how to handle them. You'll slow us down." _'And Primus help me if I'm responsible for another mess like the one that put Kree in Shockwave's grasp.'_

"But I've never been to Etraum...or lots of places...and...they could be gone soon, like my home..."

"No." Wheeljack allowed a bit of a growl into his voice. "Not this time. It's too risky."

"But..."

"Bluestreak." Up until this point, Perceptor had been doing an admirable job of ignoring the sniper. Apparently, even the laid-back and unflappable Perceptor had his limit when it came to Bluestreak's incessant babbling. "The Decepticons lay seige to Etraum once. If they find Autobots have returned to the city, they'll do it again, and you'll come out of it with far worse than a nulled energon pump."

Wheeljack idly poked at some scrap metal on the nearby table. _'Yes, thank you for pointing out what happened there, and that I am, in fact, returning to the sector and putting it in danger by doing so.'_ He glanced up again in time to see Perceptor and Bluestreak exchange a few softly-spoken words, then the youngling ducked his head, as if crestfallen, and hurried out of the lab. "Hope you didn't crush his spark," Wheeljack muttered.

Perceptor forced a smile. "Nothing he can't recover from." His attitude suddenly became far more businesslike. "Optimus has cleared us to depart whenever you're ready. If we encounter Decepticons, we are to travel to Ankmor and from there use the tunnel system to return to the base."

"If we encounter Decepticons, I'll kill them," Wheeljack said coldly.

Perceptor narrowed his optics. "Be reasonable." Only he could make such a simple statement sound like the deepest insult.

"Etraum is still my city. I _will_ defend it." Perceptor only continued to give the engineer a most disbelieving look. "I did it once. I'll do it again."

The other mech remained silent for a while longer. "Then let us hope there will be no need for you to do so this time."

"Let us hope." The scrap metal clinked together softly as Wheeljack continued to push them around. Then he swept them to the side. _'No sense putting this off any longer.'_ Wheeljack whirled around and stalked past the scientist. "We leave now."

Perceptor nodded shortly, following him. "Optimus wishes us well," he said a few moments later. Wheeljack didn't respond. This seemed to confuse Perceptor, who had obviously expected at some sort of conversation to result from his comment. They instead walked in silence through the hallways, until they had reached the north hangar. "Not every piece of equipment we're looking for will be used to construct your drones," Perceptor idly remarked as they entered the large room.

"Nope."

"Why do you need all these pieces of equipment?"

"Because I need a proper lab here."

"Some of these are not used for common engineering procedures."

Wheeljack huffed through his vents irritably. "Get to the point." He wasn't sure whose babbling was worse, Perceptor's or Bluestreak's. It must be Perceptor's, he decided, because Perceptor always had a point to make, but he forced you to listen to far too much extraneous information before he actually reached it.

"You intend to work on hyperdrive engines often?"

The engineer stopped so quickly he nearly fell forward, and turned his head to give Perceptor an icy look. "No," he said with as much finality as he could muster. If nothing else, Optimus had impressed the secrecy of his warships on Wheeljack during their earlier meeting.

"Hmm." From the sound of that simple syllable, it wouldn't matter whether or not Wheeljack outright told the scientist about the ships. Perceptor knew they were looking for shielder nanites, and that said nanites were used only to negate extreme radiation that not even Cybertronians could withstand...the kind of radiation emitted by particularly large hyperdrive engines.

Trying to keep the knowledge of Optimus's warships from Perceptor was going to be impossible. Wheeljack found himself disliking the scientist more every breem.

"Wasted time won't procure any of your equipment," Perceptor said at last, almost as if he was somehow mocking Wheeljack. He was suddenly transforming, folding into himself, armor rearranging as he settled into his hovercar form. "Onward then." And he was off.

Wheeljack just stared after him for a few moments. _'Fragger's going to drive me crazy. Damn scientist.'_ Then he, too, transformed himself into his vehicular mode and sped off after Perceptor.

* * *

Wheeljack hadn't been this excited in many orns.

There was the excitement of going there to retrieve the tools and materials he would need for a proper lab. There was the excitement that some of those tools and materials would be used to fix ancient hyperdrive engines (_'Sweet flaming Pits, I didn't think any of the pre-Golden Age warships had escaped the scrappers!'_). And there was the excitement of going home, even if just for a short time.

For some reason, the idea of going home didn't just excite him, it also filled him with an inexplicably sickening fear.

-You're worried.-

Damn it, he hated when others suddenly commed without warning. Grumbling to himself, Wheeljack made a slight correction to his course to avoid running himself into the wall of the roadway they were following. -Your deduction abilities are amazing,- he returned flatly.

The red hovercar behind him slid to the left, as if trying to pass him. -What did you leave behind when you joined the Autobots?-

-Nothing.-

-Surely there was something, otherwise you-- -

-I mean I left behind nothing,- Wheeljack said, feeling his already-worn patience with Perceptor become even more thin. -Everyone had left. Those who stayed were killed. The sector was as good as destroyed. I don't know if the equipment I need is even salvageable.-

-I see.-

-Etraum is still my sector,- he said, more to himself than anyone.

-You are not Etraum's Protector.-

-I was the only one there suited to fight.-

-One mech cannot protect an entire sector, even if that mech is you, and even that sector is one as small as Etraum.- Perceptor was speaking almost comfortingly now.

Wheeljack swerved back and forth as he continued down the roadway. -And what did you leave behind?-

-I left my research and students at Arnis Hul.-

-That's it?-

-And an Autobot-allied city, which now no longer has its militia to protect it, as said militia has deemed lending its abilities to the Prime's army instead to be the more productive thing to do.-

They were silent for the rest of the trip.

* * *

Much of Etraum was still in ruins. Too much. Travel in their alt modes was too difficult over the messes that still cluttered the roadways--if only they had Ironhide's or Ratchet's rough-terrain modes--so they stopped several klicks from the main city to continue on foot.

It was unbelievably desolate. _'Too few survived. Too few came back. There's no more government to speak of that can help them, either. Primus...it's going to be generations before Etraum lives again.'_ Wheeljack paused at the edge of the now-missing bridge in front of the labs he had once called home.

"Wheeljack, we must keep moving." Perceptor had stopped at the base of the bridge, as if going further out on the broken structure was dangerous.

"There aren't any Decepticons here," Wheeljack said off-handedly. "They haven't been around for orns."

"You don't know that."

"I hope that."

"We are in an exposed position out here." Perceptor was sounding both agitated and upset at the engineer's stubbornness.

"If there were Decepticons here, they would have shot at us already."

"Not all Decepticons shoot first and ask later."

"Really." Wheeljack looked down at Perceptor from his perch on the bridge.

"How do you think my militia was so quickly overwhelmed?"

"I'm sure that's an intriguing story for another time."

The look Perceptor shot him was nothing short of murderous.

Wheeljack glanced away, trying to hide the guilt he felt over saying that. One of these days, he would have to learn to think before speaking when he was agitated. "Sorry. Let's just get this over with."

"Glad you finally agree," the scientist muttered.

Wheeljack strolled back down the bridge, brushing past the other mech. "This way."

The clicking of Perceptor's lighter footsteps echoed hollowly around them as he followed the other mech. "What is your plan if nothing you're looking for is here?"

He didn't want to think about that. "If nothing I need is here or still usable, then my job will be that much more interesting, won't it?" He tried to say it as off-handedly as possible as he stepped over what had at one time been a section of the lower labs' outer wall.

"Please tell me the items we're looking for were kept on the lower levels." Perceptor, being shorter than Wheeljack, had a slightly more difficult time getting over the fallen wall. "I do not trust upper levels of bombed-out complexes any more than I would trust a cyberhawk around a youngling."

"I think they were all...do you hear that?"

The two mechs stopped, bringing their sensors up to full power. Faint clanging and scraping sounds could be heard from within the remains of the labs. Wheeljack flexed his hands before activating his guns. Ducking slightly, he broke into a jog to quickly cross the damaged lab to his goal: the door he had once protected from Seekers and Autobots alike. He pressed himself against the wall separating the lab from the more intact parts of the building and peered in through the open door.

A few moments later, Perceptor joined him. "A little warning before you take off next time would be appreciated," the scientist hissed softly.

"Do you hear that?" Wheeljack repeated.

"Yes. Decepticons?"

"I don't think so. They knew the code for the door." He gestured to the open door, which was free of any marks of forced entry.

"You coded the door to lock from the inside of the lab?"

"Perceptor, if you learn one thing during your imminent time with me, it's that sometimes you shouldn't enter a lab by accident while I'm working. I take precautions to prevent that." With a silence belied by his large size, Wheeljack smoothly slipped through the door and into the dim hallway beyond. The power to the building was still disconnected, or maybe nobody had thought it worthwhile to turn the lights on again. The banging sounds were louder in here. Wheeljack followed the mysterious sound. _'I swear to Primus, if a Decepticon is messing with my building, I will scrap him so hard, not even his spark signature will be recognizable.'_

"You are an impossible mech."

"I know. Now be quiet."

The banging was coming from a room further down the hall to their right, one of several storage rooms on this level. This particular one held pre-made items such as wires, beams, and panels of various sorts. Many boxes holding this items were now sitting in haphazard piles in the hallway. Cautiously, the two Autobots approached the room, tensed like a pair of turbofoxes on the hunt. Then came the clanging noise again. It sounded as if several mechs were in the room, and they were shifting through the supplies.

Someone was raiding his labs.

Growling, Wheeljack raised his mask, preparing himself for battle. He lunged forward, taking a defensive stance in the doorway, arms raised to point his charged guns at the occupants of the room. Perceptor followed, drawing his own weapon.

For the briefest of moments, three pair of glowing blue optics stared back at them in shock. Then the unknown mechs simultaneously yelped in surprise and dove for cover in a flurry of flailing limbs. As they had removed the largest items from the room already, there were few places left for them to hide. The smallest of the trio managed to fit behind one of the remaining boxes, leaving her larger companions to back themselves against the far wall in terror, only able to stare at the large, armed, and angry mech before them.

It took Wheeljack's processor a few tries to work itself out of battle mode. _'They're not attacking. They're afraid. They're unarmed. Not Decepticons.'_

The mechs, seeing Wheeljack's hesitation, likewise cautiously lowered their defense. The femme peered out at him from behind the box.

"Primus, you almost killed them!" Perceptor snarled to the engineer. He testily power down his his gun and snapped it back into its hold.

"Wheeljack?" the femme asked in disbelief as she edged out from behind the box. "Perceptor?" The scientist clicked once in greeting.

His mind now back to its normal state, Wheeljack blinked a few times at the individuals before him, then retracted his weapons and mask. Why hadn't he recognized them before? He had only spent several vorns working with them. "What are you doing here?"

"Could ask the same of you," the femme returned.

"I thought you left Etraum for good."

"I thought you were dead," the blue-armored mech of the group muttered. He glanced to Perceptor. "Thought you were in Arnis Hul. Where...what...oh." He looked back to Wheeljack, optics focusing on a point on the engineer's forehead. "I see." Those two words were filled with unspeakable disgust.

Wheeljack self-consciously rubbed the Autobot sigil on his helm-crest. "Yeah. That."

"So...you're not dead after all." The other mech still leaned against the far wall, the tentacle-like arms that adorned his back curved protectively in front of his body, as if he wasn't sure he could trust what he was seeing.

"You think a few Decepticons could kill me? I can't even kill myself." Wheeljack smiled dryly.

"Primus knows you try," the blue mech muttered.

"So what _are_ you doing here?" The femme pulled herself out from behind the box.

"You first, Silvershot," Wheeljack countered, entering the room to lazily lean back against the wall.

"Blaze and I came back when we heard about the attack. We were...we were looking for survivors." She looked absently at the floor.

"We didn't find any," Blaze continued for her, his irritated tone not lessening.

Silvershot had turned away from everyone else in the room, her optics sad despite the light smile on her face. "And then Wildspark showed up one cycle, so we thought we'd try to clean this place up."

"Yeah, that's more or less what's happened here," Wildspark said, finally lowering and retracting his tentacle-arms.

Perceptor nodded slightly. "And we're here to retrieve some equipment."

"So you come back from the dead to loot your own labs?"

"Blaze!" Silvershot hissed to her friend in admonishment.

"That's basically it, yes," Wheeljack said, bowing his head guiltily. _'It sounds so wrong when you put it that way.'_

The silence that followed was awkward indeed.

"You'd better have a good explanation for it," Blaze said.

"I'll be using the equipment for something that just might give us the edge we need over the Decepticons." He hoped that was sufficiently vague, because he couldn't think of a more vague way to put it.

Again, silence. Then Blaze spoke up once more. "Well, don't let it go to your head."

* * *

If the journey to Etraum had been tense, the one back to the Autobot base was worse. Wheeljack was nothing short of morose after seeing his sector and his former interns and co-worker once more. Even Silvershot's joy and Blaze's reluctantly-expressed relief at seeing Wheeljack and Perceptor were alive, Wildspark's own odd celebratory dance (those tentacle-like appendages of his never ceased to creep out Wheeljack), and a cube of high-grade from one of Etraum's now-deserted bars had not managed to relax the engineer.

He didn't want to think about that trip, or the desolate, empty state of his home, or three mechs' seemingly futile attempt at rebuilding the sector any longer than he had to. But he knew, he just knew, it would haunt him the way that voice did, the way those cyberhawks did. He was not looking forward to his next few recharges.

Perceptor didn't like the trip back either, although Wheeljack suspected that he just didn't enjoy maintaining comm silence. The scientist was quick to unload the items he carried in his hold and situate them in the lab, and he was quick to leave once that task was done. Wheeljack was content to lose himself in organizing his equipment exactly how he liked, until he was commed by Prowl, who crossly reminded him that he was supposed to debrief immediately after returning to the base, not a cycle later.

This led to another wonderful conversation with the lieutenant, although Optimus was present as well this time, which was useful in preventing the two mechs from physically harming one another. The Autobot commander even took it upon himself to walk with Wheeljack back to the lab after the debriefing. Wheeljack would never say it, but he was grateful for the Prime's presence for even that relatively short walk. It was nice to be near someone who didn't actively dislike him this cycle.

They turned into the lab in tandem. At the corner of his vision, Wheeljack saw Optimus stop short, and the engineer did likewise. He had never known something to take Optimus aback to the point of actually freezing him in his tracks. Then he thought to look into the lab to see what the source of the Autobot commander's distress was.

He immediately realized why the Prime had refrained from going any further. A large Seeker was inside the lab, the crests on top of his head appearing to brush against the ceiling. His body blocked out the nearby light panels, putting his broad form into shadow. The looming effect this produced was most ominous. Wheeljack was not immune to the mind-numbing terror a Seeker could induce in Cybertronians, and at that moment, he wanted nothing more than to dive for cover from the war machine's apparent wrath. But something--whether his own stubbornness or stupidity or the fear itself--keep him frozen where he stood, as if his feet had been welded to the floor.

"You _murderers_!" Silverbolt snarled, his neck flap and wing panels raising in a threatening display, which was very threatening indeed given that the Seeker towered over Optimus. Sharp toe-talons snapped against the floor, producing a strangely loud and intimidating clicking. The wing leader's arm suddenly snapped forward, hurling an object at the unfortunate Autobots standing before him.

Optimus side-stepped almost reflexively despite the object going far wide of him, but Wheeljack was still in fear and shock at seeing the Seeker in his lab and couldn't find the ability to dodge. The thrown object struck his shoulder with a dull clang, bringing him to his senses. The item bounced away and fell to the floor, where it skipped and rattled across the room until it came to a rest at a point between the Seeker and the ground-bound mechs. Now that wasn't moving, it was plain to see that it was a datapad. Kree's datapad, whose screen was now showing neatly-typed Cybertronian characters interspersed with Sideswipe's surprisingly legible handwriting and Wheeljack's own notes and diagrams.

The screen flickered, then a hologram suddenly jumped to life from the device: Kree's three-dimensional drawing of a Jhiasian Seeker-hunter.


	13. Interlude II: The Washracks

Sometimes Ironhide hated being one of the higher-ranking Autobots. Such as times like this, when Prowl was laid up in the medbay and under strict orders from Ratchet to rest. Ironhide unfortunately had to take on the lieutenant's duty of policing the Autobots. Not that the weapons specialist was blaming Prowl for the current situation. No, if anyone, he was blaming Jazz and his inability to command enough respect from the soldiers to handle keeping them in order until Prowl was back on duty. There just was something about having the small mech yelling at you that struck mechs with amusement rather than fear. So it was Ironhide who got the job. He was certainly respected by the other mechs, but that didn't mean he enjoyed playing youngling master to them.

Then again, with so many mechs--so many of those mechs who tended to cause trouble, anyway--currently offline for repairs or recovering from more minor injuries, things were rather quiet around the base. The weapons specialist was able to spend more time assigning mechs to various necessary tasks than threatening them with disciplinary actions.

And then the comm came in.

-Um, Ironhide?-

The black-armored mech lightly shuttered his optics in exasperation. _'Please, please, please...I'm not in the mood to deal with trouble right now.'_ -Yes, Cliffjumper?-

-I think you're needed in the washracks.-

_'What the frag could possibly be going on in the washracks? I swear to Primus, if Sunstreaker is being an aft again...'_ Ironhide grumbled to himself as he set out to deal with whatever situation had arisen this time. -I'll be there in a sec.- Down the hallway he stomped, into the lift, and up he rode to Level 2.

When he stepped out of the lift, his audials were assaulted by the most unearthly, loud shrieking he had ever heard. Shocked by the noise, he hesitated, feeling almost physically assaulted. _'What in the Pits...?'_ His face fell as realization dawned on him. _'Oh, slag.'_ He forced his massive old body into a jog, hurrying him towards the washracks. When he saw the doors to the room were open, he slowed. Just in time, as his feet landed in a puddle of cleaning oil was slowly creeping its way into the hallway. Bracing himself for the worst, Ironhide took a moment to dim his audials before stepping into the room.

He could sense several Autobots on the far side of the room, though his view of them was blocked by the washracks themselves. To his left, pressed against the wall, uncharacteristically wary, were Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. The two warriors were eyeing the scene before them with unease, as if trying to decide whether they should proceed to their favorite washracks or make a run for freedom. Their hesitation was wise, for the path to each destination was blocked by five Seekers. Not even the Twins were so foolhardy as to approach a wing of screaming Seekers in a confined space.

Ironhide was too busy trying to make sense of what was going on to figure out how to deal with it. Several of the washrack separators had been knocked down. Two of the Seekers were jostling for space under the same spray of oil, though there were plenty of empty stalls for them both to have their own. In another stall, which was more or less demolished, was the smallest of the five Seekers. He would stand under the cleaning oil, then step back to scream and nip at another Seeker's toes, those being the only part of his wingmate he could reach. That Seeker was perched on a collapsed partition so that he towered above everyone in the room. A broken sprayer was spraying oil up at him, and everything within his immediate vicinity, and the ceiling, and Primus knew what else. He was swaying back and forth, almost dancing, ignoring the smaller Seeker biting his toes as he shrieked more loudly than all his comrades combined. The piercing non-stop sound was threatening to scramble Ironhide's processor.

The soldier was finally able to get his wits about him enough to shout, "What the frag is going on here?" The Seekers ignored him. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker glanced his way but said nothing. Spying the largest, Seeker in a stall by himself, Ironhide started for him, wincing as he passed the other shrieking flyers. "Would someone shut those things up?" he snarled.

The lone Seeker was sitting huddled in the stall, no oil running. He had his back turned to everyone, as if he too was trying to block out the chaos. Ironhide approached him without fear and gave him a shove on his shoulder. "Hey, you the wing leader?"

"That's what they say," the Seeker said morosely, not bothering to look at Ironhide.

"Get your Seekers under control and get them out of here."

"I...I'm so sorry..." The flyer covered his head with his hands. "I didn't mean to inflict them upon the Autobots."

"What are you talking about?" Ironhide demanded.

The wing leader curled up slightly. "I try to do my best, but they can't help it. It's hard enough by ourselves. You shouldn't have to deal with it too."

Ironhide grumbled. "Look, I don't give a frag what's going on, just make it st--"

A Seeker suddenly thrusted his head into Ironhide's face, causing the weapons specialist to reflexively raise his cannon-bearing arms. "I like washracks!" the Seeker loudly declared. Then he bounced to his wing leader, showing the same lack of regard for personal space. "Silverbolt! Silverbolt!"

"Yes?" the Seeker replied.

"I like washracks!"

"I know, Fireflight."

"I like washracks and we are _inside and there are no Seekers_!" Fireflight was apparently very excited by this, as evidenced by his fluttering wing-flaps.

Ironhide, on the other hand, was unsettled and confused by Fireflight's behavior, and he slowly lowered his weapons. No Seeker violated another Seeker's personal space without warning like Fireflight just had, even if they were a bonded pair. And what did he mean by 'no Seekers'? _'Something's...off about him. Wait. Silverbolt said...'_ It was then that realization dawned on him. _'Crazy Seekers. Honest-to-Primus crazy Seekers. Just what we need.'_ Ironhide took a few steps to the side before activating his comm. -Optimus?-

-What's wrong, Ironhide?- was the commander's quick reply.

-These, er...we have a problem.-

-Yes?-

Ironhide eyed Silverbolt and Fireflight. The wing leader hadn't moved, while Fireflight was still bouncing around him like an excited Seeklet. They were shortly joined by another of their wing, who unsuccessfully tried to calm Fireflight down. -These Seekers. We're not allowing them to stay, are we?-

-I have not yet decided,- Optimus said evenly. -Why?-

-I don't think we're...equipped to handle them.-

Optimus was silent for a beat. -Ironhide, I am well aware of their condition.-

Fireflight was sliding himself closer to Ironhide, head tilted suspiciously. "Do _you_ like washracks?"

Ironhide was taken off-guard by the interruption. "I...what?...sure, whatever," the older mech growled. -This is a bad idea, Optimus.-

-You thought Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were a bad idea,- the Prime chided.

-Still do. But I also think five processor-addled Seekers are worse than those two any day.-

-Perhaps,- responded Optimus. -However, they _did_ greatly assist us in dealing with Shockwave's troops. The least we can do is allow them to stay until they are healed and let them make their own decision as to whether they will stay or go. Besides...I think the Fireflight one rather likes it here.-

When the Prime said things like that, it signaled the end of a discussion. Ironhide sighed heavily. -I hope you know what you're doing.-

-We have to make the best of any situation. This one will work out as it will,- Optimus said before terminating the comm.

_'It'd better work out sooner rather than later.'_ Ironhide returned his attention to the disaster at hand, only to find that Fireflight was still giving him a suspicious look. The Seeker was half-crouched, peering at the weapons specialist with a sidelong glance. "_What_?" Ironhide finally snapped.

"I don't think you like washracks," Fireflight said in a suspenseful voice.

"I like them just fine!" _'Primus, it's like arguing with a youngling! I hate arguing with younglings.'_

The Seeker still did not move. "No, I don't think so."

"Oh, really?" _'I am not in the mood for your crazy games. Go away, now. Go!'_

"You don't look shiny. Everyone looks shiny after a washracks!" With that, Fireflight whirled around on his toes and marched off.

Ironhide just watched him as he made his way to the dryracks. _'Okay, that's it. I am officially done trying to figure out Seekers.'_

From behind him came a familiar snickering. "He just called Ironhide old to his face and got away with it." This was joined by a lower, more rumbling sort of laughter.

_'What? ...Oh.'_ Now, Fireflight's words made perfect sense, and said old mech felt most stupid for not figuring them out. He growled softly, balling his hands into fists at the continuing laughter behind him. "I'll see you in training tomorrow, Sideswipe," he said, with more than a hint of a threat in his voice. He smirked as the red twin suddenly fell silent. _'Oh yes. Wrong time to mess with me, youngster. Now, let's see about getting this place cleaned up.'_


	14. War and Anger

It was only when Silverbolt stomped towards them that Wheeljack snapped out of his paralysis. He jumped to the side, out of the angry Seeker's path. At the corner of his vision, he saw one of those taloned feet land dangerously close to his datapad. He winced as Silverbolt's weight shook the floor, making the pad rattle against the tiles. That datapad was more precious than anything else right now to Wheeljack. If something happened to it, he would lose Kree's information...the last remnant of Kree himself. He decided to take his chances with Silverbolt and darted forward, snatching up the pad. The engineer didn't stop his sprint until he was on the far side of one of his work tables. Now, there was at least some sort of protection from the Seeker for his precious datapad. Oh, and his precious body, too.

"This is a classified project," Optimus said, admirably calm in the face of impending doom. "I only inform mechs of it when it is prudent that they know."

"And you didn't think it would be _prudent_ to tell me your scientists are making things that will hunt down and destroy my wingmates?" Silverbolt's voice was a loud, dangerous hiss. He was so close to Optimus now, he could very easily bite the Prime's facial plates off. The Prime held his ground.

Wheeljack felt himself cringing in reaction to the pure rage he could feel emanating from Silverbolt. Faltering in the face of anger was an uncommon, and uncomfortable, sensation for him. He tried to distract himself from the argument and his discomfort by looking at the still-lit datapad in his hand. He hadn't had a chance to read all of Sideswipe's notes yet. The red twin had an annoying habit of writing on things not entirely related to Kree's lack of written Cybertronian skills, as if he was just jotting down whatever thoughts popped into his rotten little processor. Like this one, next to one of Wheeljack's design drafts:

_All of Kree's notes are for flighted_

_attacks against Seekers. I'm not sure_

_how you intend to pull off turning those_

_into ground-based drone programming._

The engineer narrowed his optics. _'By making smart drones, obviously.'_

"I will not risk the lives of my wingmates by living in the same den as those drones and the ones who sanction such genocidal operations!"

"And you would risk their lives by leaving? Megatron will have you all hunted down, and quite honestly Silverbolt, your wingmates would not stand a chance."

"So first you threaten their lives, now you insult them?"

"No. I wish for you to reconsider. I'm sure Wheeljack can program the drones to recognize allied Seekers."

_Oh, Sunny says you have absolutely_

_no artistic sensibilities whatsoever._

_'Few engineers do, gold boy. We don't do 'pretty'. Who gave you permission to look at my file, anyway?'_

_He also says you're making the drones_

_look like haroon. And he would know._

Having his drones equated to Unicron's infamous spark-eaters was something Wheeljack was not entirely comfortable with. It was the type of association that would encourage others to shun or harass him, and he had endured enough of that as a youngling, thank you very much. And yet, the comparison was oddly apt. Not to mention that such a horrifying title and its implications would no doubt strike fear into the sparks of the Seekers who faced the drones.

Then he realized that both Silverbolt and Optimus were looking at him expectantly. He stared back dumbly. "What?"

"Can you program the drones to distinguish between Autobots and Decepticons rather than Seekers and non-Seekers?" the Prime asked patiently.

Wheeljack looked from him to the still-snarly Silverbolt. "I...um..."

The Seeker sneered at him. "Forget it." He stormed out of the lab, brushing past Optimus with a none-too-gentle shove. An oppressive silence followed his exit.

"You _can_ program them to do that, can't you?" Optimus asked at last.

"I don't know," Wheeljack admitted, suddenly feeling very small and worthless. "Programming has always been my weak point." _'That would require some higher-level cognitive programming. I know it can be done, I just need to find some examples to work from, and then I'd have to work that in as an exception to their whole purpose, which is, you know, to destroy Seekers...'_

"Just do your best. I'll talk to Silverbolt."

Wheeljack only nodded as Optimus also took his leave of the lab. He was really beginning to despise Seekers. Never before had anyone made him feel guilty about his job the way Silverbolt just had.

Suddenly, he felt his guilt turn into anger, a cold rage that grew with every passing moment. But where any other mech of his subtype would channel such rage into violence, he channeled that energy into determination.

Which, ironically enough, was determination to create drones to be violent instead.

* * *

"Are there any drones in this entire base you _haven't_ destroyed?" Wheeljack gave an irritated kick to the broken, lifeless shell of one of those drones before stepping over it to search the further reaches of the storage room. He had hoped that at least some of the drones listed in the base's inventory would still be in one piece. It would be so much easier to use an old drone as a base for his Seeker-killers than it would be to create one from nothing.

"Probably not," Sunstreaker said lazily.

"Would you assist us in finding one that's at least relatively intact?" Perceptor asked, sounding exasperated.

Sunstreaker leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. "No." Though he wasn't grinning that feral grin of his, one could tell he was nonetheless quite amused with himself.

Wheeljack shoved aside another deactivated drone as his thoughts once again drifted to how to annoy Sunstreaker as much as the gladiator was annoying him right now. _'Primus, this is hopeless. Might as well just drag all this slag up to the lab and make drones from scratch. At least that'd get me away from that fragging gold boy for a while.'_

"Wheeljack."

"What, Perceptor?"

"That flamethrower is still active."

He glanced to his left. Sure enough, the flamethrower mounted on one of the old attack drones was tracking him. "Well," he said slowly. "Deactivate it." Perceptor was already on his way to do just that.

"Don't feel like entertaining Ratchet today?" Sunstreaker said.

Wheeljack kept himself still as Perceptor worked on deactivating the weapon. "I've had my armor melted enough since joining this army." He stared down the barrel of the flamethrower, not liking the ominous blinking red light on its side. "I don't feel like going through it again just yet."

"Uh-huh."

The engineer turned his head to glare at Sunstreaker. "If you're not going to help, go away."

The gold-armored mech returned the glare with a haughty look of his own. "Fine. You two lack entertainment value, anyway." He pushed himself into an upright stance and took a step towards the doorway.

Wheeljack heard the flamethrower whir softly as it began to track the only moving object in the room. _'Oh, frag no.'_ "Sunstreaker, don't move!" he shouted.

The drone shuddered. Sunstreaker glanced back.

Five breems later, the gladiator was shut in one of the medbay's private rooms. He was throwing himself against the door in rage, shrieking insults to anyone in hearing range.

Wheeljack was sitting on one of the medbay tables, left arm blackened and shimmering blue energon oozing from multiple lacerations in his armor.

Upon their entry into his realm, Ratchet had locked himself in his office and refused to deal with either of them until, in his words, he "fragging well felt like dealing with those slagging half-byte mobile disaster zones." Which, Wheeljack was beginning to suspect, wouldn't be for a long while indeed.

* * *

Hound scurried through the lower levels of Simfur like an oversized glitch-mouse, his blunt muzzle hovering mere marks above the ground as he scanned every scent he came across. He took care to move as silently and quickly he possibly could. There was no telling who or what might be looking for the easy pickings of a lone Autobot.

After Hound had been deemed sufficiently healed by the chief medic, Optimus had wasted no time in putting him to work. Things had been quiet, too quiet, to the Prime since returning from the failure at Shockwave's stronghold. He was sure Megatron was up to something. Thus, out went the scouts. And with few scouts under his command, out went one who had pledged his allegiance to the faction only cycles earlier. The only mission was to search for any Decepticon activity, which was proving to be more difficult than Hound had anticipated.

All of the scents here were old. Hound crossed the occasional turbofox or glitch-mouse trails, but they were of no consequence. There was, however, an odd smell in some of the lower areas, very faint and nearly blending in with the natural smells of the planet. Hound had come across it few times before, in the more remote areas of Cybertron.

_'Techno-organics! I didn't realize they came so close to the cities nowadays.'_ Under normal circumstances, Hound would have pursued those elusive creatures, but these were not normal circumstances. He had a mission, and trying to locate a race that preferred to stay hidden was not it.

He made a mental note to remember this location anyway. Perhaps he could one day return to pursue the techno-organics.

Hound crawled back towards the planet surface. The lack of Decepticon activity in this sector was both a relief and a source of worry. The scout smirked. _'Relief and worry cancel each other out, so I guess that puts things in neutral. Heh.'_

Simfur was still relatively untouched by the war thus far, despite it being the home of the Temple of the Allspark. Several skirmishes had been fought here at the start of the war, but ever since Optimus had hidden away the Allspark, things had been calm on this front. With the temple empty, there was no point to fight for control of the city. Hound focused his energy on scouting through the outer limits of Simfur rather than entering the city proper.

He had covered much ground this cycle. Admittedly, he was pushing himself to go over as much area as possible in the last two cycles of his scouting trip to make up for the Autobots' lack of scouts. He could tell he was going to be quite exhausted when he returned to the base, especially with how rough this terrain was.

Outer Simfur was a sparsely-populated place characterized by its craggy cliffs, hidden gorges, and numerous caves. It had once been notorious for its large population of cyberhawks, which had served to not only isolate Simfur, but protect the Temple. Travel in and out of the city had been extremely dangerous, as the cyberhawks would pick off smaller mechs or try to tear larger mechs into smaller pieces. Eventually, the residents of Simfur had become fed up with the aggressive predators. After a few generations of intense anti-cyberhawk strikes, little was left of non-sentient lifeforms in the area.

Hound thought that was a sad thing. Even cyberhawks deserved a place to live.

The scout paused, lifting his head. He could hear voices, a few mechs talking softly somewhere nearby. Now _this_ was something he should investigate. Lowering himself against the ground, he scrambled around boulders and over crevasses, following the sound.

He slowed when he drew close, taking a moment to activate his spark-dampener and holo-environment field. Satisfied that he was sufficiently cloaked from idle sensors, Hound carefully slunk forward, edging down into a small gorge. He sidled down the canyon to its junction with a larger one. Here, he stopped, then cautiously poked his head around the canyon wall to peer into the space beyond.

His spark froze within his chest.

At least two wings' worth of coneheaded Seekers occupied the gorge. They half-crouched, their pointed head armor lowered so as not to be seen above the lip of the gorge. They shuffled around for a few moments, arranging themselves in some specific way Hound could not discern.

Hound had never seen a conehead in person, but seeing them now filled him with the sense of dread they were infamous for causing. The mech who appeared to be the leader of this group was addressing the others, as if laying out a plan. The others would nod or growl or interject their own words as the leader spoke. Hound couldn't understand any of it, though, as it was in the odd Jhiasian language. Remembering his mission, he quickly started recording what he could pick up of the conversation from his location. This could be valuable intelligence...if there was someone who could translate it.

After much deliberation, the group suddenly spoke all at once, a low-pitched sound of affirmation. They had obviously reached an agreement, although with what Hound knew of Seekers, an 'agreement' was usually more of the ringleader asserting his superior status over the others than anything democratic in nature. Then, the gorge erupted with the roar of flight engines. The Seekers leapt into the air, where they circled and dove until they had settled into their individual wings. Hound remained stock-still as the sound of coneheads in flight slowly grew more faint, echoing across Outer Simfur until they had at last disappeared even from his well-tuned audial sensors. _'Heading to Shockwave's keep,'_ he noted. _'They must have arrived recently if they have not been sent to Megatron's base yet.'_

When he was sure it was safe to move about, Hound began running in the general direction of the Autobot base, still careful to stay hidden from any prying optics that may be above him. He had to get close enough to the base to send this sound file without it becoming distorted, and he had to do it quickly. A secret meeting of Seekers never led to anything good.

* * *

Wheeljack had never been called to Optimus's office before, and he wasn't sure whether this was a good or bad thing. Certainly better than being called to Prowl's office. Or was it? Optimus was not as hard-headed as the tactician, but he commanded the entire army, and therefore could probably mete out worse punishments than Prowl and Ironhide combined. _'I hate having to answer to higher-ups.'_

Whatever events his mind had conjured up, what he found when he entered the Prime's office took him by surprise. Facing Optimus was a most strange group of mechs. To one side were Sideswipe and Red Alert, neither one heckling the other for once, and to the other one side stood Prowl, still sans his wing panels and looking most absurd because of it. As one, all mechs present turned to look at Wheeljack when he stepped into the room.

The engineer froze at the sudden scrutiny. "What?" he said, hoping he didn't sound as uncertain as he felt. "I know I can't be the best-looking mech right now, but you should see Sunstreaker."

Red Alert gave him the most unamused expression he had ever seen. Prowl just looked exasperated, as he often did. Sideswipe's face plates twitched slightly at the mention of his brother's currently burned-to-the-Pits armor. All three expressions usually meant something bad was going to happen shortly to Wheeljack, and his wing-blades swiveled up in alarm.

Optimus quickly stepped in dispersed any impending trouble between his subordinates. "Wheeljack, how soon can you have one of your drones finished?"

The engineer's wing-blades flicked up and down slightly as he thought, as if trying to hide their earlier betrayal of his emotional state. "I can have one put together in a few cycles, it's the programming that'll take time. Several joors, at least. Why?"

"Hound came across conehead Seekers near Simfur. They are planning to attack the Iacon Youth Complex at the end of the joor."

Wheeljack was silent for a long time before he finally responded with an eloquent, "Oh." Another extended silence followed. "I guess I'll get on that."


	15. Descent

A/N: Didja miss me?

I didn't realize it's been almost a year since my last update. I feel horrible about that, leaving everyone hanging like I did. Thank you everyone for being so patient with me, and thank you to those people who have come across the story somehow or another during the down time!

I wish this chapter were longer, but it's really a bridge between the last one and the events to come, and I didn't feel I could properly attach it to a longer chapter. Here's to hoping life won't get crazy again so I can update more frequently from now on!

Maybe a mild warning on this chapter for mentions of violence against children.

* * *

_ His first, base reaction to stress was to lash out. But his mind said that no matter how good it may feel to act on his anger, it was not a proper reaction. It would only lead to more trouble, and he didn't like that, no matter what his basic programming said._

That conflict was what had led him to flee the youth complex, away from stress and trouble. Of course his youngling-master came looking for him, although it took some time for him to figure out exactly where his charge had gotten to this time. He found the small white-armored mechling hiding behind a stack of shipping crates in the docking bay, tinkering with a small datapad.

"Wheeljack." Shade's voice was soft, but the irritation in his tone was more than evident. Wheeljack kept his back to the older mech, trying to pretend he hadn't heard his name being called. "Wheeljack, what are you doing in there?"

"Nothin'," the youngling muttered. His little crate-cavern was briefly lit by the blinking of the exposed vocal resonators along his jaw.

"You wouldn't happen to know why half of Fleet's faceplates are missing, would you?"

He may have liked to hide from trouble he had caused, but he wasn't one to lie. "He said bad things about me," Wheeljack stated simply. 'Not the first time.'  
_  
"Like what?"_

The young mech shrugged nonchalantly, but his spark was quivering in its casing. The datapad in his hands suddenly shut off, leaving him in darkness.

"Wheeljack?"

He shook his head emphatically. He had no desire to repeat the things the other youngling had called him, especially to his caretaker.

"Come out here." Shade was not fond of "playing these games," as liked to describe dealing Wheeljack's stubborn tendencies, and his increasing irritation was giving his voice a rather stern edge.

Again Wheeljack shook his head. "I don't want to go away," he said, barely above a whisper.

That took Shade off-guard. "What?"

He couldn't hold it back now. "They said...they said mechs like me get sent away to be Seeker fuel, and...now they know...I am..." Wheeljack trailed off, turning his attention to prying the casing off of the datapad with his little fingers.

The youngling-master huffed through his vents. "They're just trying to scare you with drek-monsters."

"They hate me."

"They've never seen your subtype before and they're just being stupid about it."

_ "Even the other youngling-masters."_

"No--"

"I'm not stupid!" Wheeljack snapped. "I heard them talking, they said 4-Betas are dangerous and useless and you should have had me culled when you found out..." He whimpered, and with a giant shuddering sigh, he curled himself into his protective youngling shell. Tiny sobs were soon heard from within.

He heard the scrape of shipping crates as they were moved across the floor. Shade soon scooped him up and settled his small form into the crook of his arm. The older mech silently ran his multi-fingered hand over his charge's armor. Then, he said softly, "How about you tell me what you were planning to do with that datapad..."

* * *

There was only so much work he could do on the hyperdrive engines without actually seeing them--namely, none. But without someone to actually take him to the warships, Wheeljack couldn't very well rectify that situation. With that project on hold, he had no choice but to return to his lab.

It was the only time in his memory that he didn't want to be in his favorite place.

He didn't want to face _them_.

Primus help him, he had to.

The lab was as he had left it the cycle before. Not that he had expected it to be different. The other Autobots tended to avoid the place, even when he wasn't in it. Numbly, he walked to one of the tables and looked down at the tools on its surface. They had been neatly organized by function and size, something Perceptor did whenever Wheeljack wasn't around to stop him from ruining his own work space set-up. It was only one of many small things that made it difficult for Wheeljack to tolerate the scientist's presence.

Things were bad indeed when he didn't feel even the slightest bit of annoyance at the mere thought of Perceptor's habits. Wheeljack only stood there in the silence of the dimly-lit lab, staring at the table, or the tools, or the floor, or some nonexistant point in the middle.

_War goes on. Those who should not be involved end up dying, and you still pointlessly try to fight it._

He glanced up, optics focusing on another work table. A cold, sharp-edged face leered back, almost taunting him. Wheeljack scowled at the face for a moment before walking to its table. The face didn't react to the engineer's approach, nor to him looking down at its open helm and the twisted mess of wiring within that was supposed to serve as a processor.

_You try to fight it, but it cannot be fought._

The lab suddenly rang with the sound of metal hitting metal as Wheeljack landed his fist on the table, mere marks away from the leering face. "You really are a fragging Pit-spawned haroon, aren't you?" he hissed. Leaning forward, he spoke directly into its audials. "Why don't you go back to the damn Pits already and take this whole glitched war with you?"

The face's leering expression seemed to intensify, as if the creature was saying, _'If I go, I'm taking you with me. You know as well as I do that Silverbolt was right. Fleet was right. They're all right. The Pits are the only suitable place for someone like you.'_

Wheeljack's wing-blades twitched in agitation. "I am not a murderer."

_'Aren't you?'  
_  
"Not if I have anything to say about it."

That silver sneer looked somehow more malevolent than before. _'You know with your programming skills, I'll probably just run into the wall the moment I come online. Go ahead. Try to prove that overgrown Seeker wrong.'_

'Oh, so now even offline drones are mocking me?' Activating his welder, Wheeljack held it threateningly close to the face. "You've chosen the wrong mech to test," he growled. The bright light of the welder shimmered on the face's armor plates and reflected from its dead optics, making it seem for a moment to be very much alive.

As he set to work on the drone, Wheeljack could have sworn he heard its dark laughter over the distant cries of cyberhawks.

* * *

"How is he today?"

First Aid looked up at Ratchet as he entered the medbay office, his faceplates twitching into a grimace.

"That good, huh," Ratchet muttered as he returned to the monitor in front of him. Thank Primus First Aid was around to handle psychiatry this time, especially as this was Bluestreak they were talking about. The sniper was rambly enough on a good day, but after something like this, his babblings were enough to almost fry Ratchet's processor.

"He's not much older than some...some of those who died," First Aid said. "I can't say I'd be doing any better if I were in his position. Can't say I'm doing very well now myself, to be honest."

Ratchet only rumbled softly in response.

"I mean frag, what's the reasoning behind killing the Seekerlings? It doesn't make sense..."

"I don't _know_, 'Aid," the CMO growled.

First Aid was silent for a moment. "Sorry, Ratchet," he said quietly. "I'm just...I don't understand."

"None of us do." The death of all those younglings was sickening to think about, and Ratchet didn't wish to dwell on it any longer than he had to.

"_Open up, fragger!_" Ironhide's angry voice echoed down the hallway and into the medbay, followed by someone else--Perceptor?--speaking, though his words were too soft to be intelligible in the office.

Ratchet felt his optic ridge twitch. He was in no mood to hear Ironhide's shouting today. "I will be right back," he said darkly. First Aid nodded meekly, but the medic was already out of the office, heading for the medbay entrance.

It was indeed Perceptor who was with Ironhide. Both mechs were standing in front of the closed (and, Ratchet assumed, locked) lab doors. The scientist looked more perturbed than Ratchet had ever seen him, and Ironhide, well, Ratchet had seen him perturbed plenty of times, and this was no different.

"What the frag is all the yelling for?" Ratchet walked over to them, more than a bit of a stomp in his steps.

"I'll give you one guess," Ironhide said flatly.

"Just leave him alone," the CMO said, exasperated.

"We've done that for the past joor," Perceptor put in. "He is not the only one who uses the laboratory, you know. I have work I must do for Optimus."

Ironhide rubbed his forearms, as if itching to deploy his cannons. "And I don't trust whatever that mech's doing in there."

Ratchet sighed. "Red?" _'When all else fails, go for the obviously solution, geniuses.'_

The intercom buzzed softly. **-Red Alert's not here,-** Blaster replied, far too cheerfully for Ratchet's liking.

"Whoever." The CMO ran a hand over his face in exasperation. "Unlock the lab doors."

Blaster hesitated. **-Wheeljack locked them from the inside.-**

"And?"

Perceptor's face twitched into a wry smile. "He's made it very clear that means he's not to be disturbed."  
**  
-Well, that, and I hate to say it, but I can't figure out what he's done.-**

"And you're in the security office," Ratchet said in a low voice.

** -Come on, Ratchet. I'm the communications guy, not Red's double.-**

"So where's Red?"  
**  
-He said he wants absolutely nothing to do with whatever's going on in the lab.-**

Ratchet felt like hitting something. Or someone. A very specific someone.  
**  
-I'd call Optimus or Prowl down, but they're busy with the whole conehead thing right now.-**

"You see our dilemma?" Perceptor said.

Ironhide growled. "Wheeljack, you fragging glitch, _open the damn doors!_"

There was no reply from within the lab.

"That's it," the weapons specialist said. He was suddenly leveling his cannons at the doors, their targeting equipment clicking ominously. "Stand back!"

Ratchet fairly leapt to Ironhide's side and tried to push his arms down. "Are you out of your fragging processor? Who knows what kinds of explosives he's got in there!"

"Exactly," Ironhide said. Then, realizing the implications of that, he grumbled and reluctantly lowered his weapons. "Primus damn it. Gotta do everything the hard way with this guy."

* * *

It took longer than any of them would have liked, but eventually, the lab doors were opened without any injuries occurring. Ratchet had to admit he was rather relieved by that.

Their final solution was one requiring the help of Blaster's drone Steeljaw. Blaster was understandably hesitant to send his cassette to their aid, agreeing only agreed after being assured that no Wheeljack-related harm would come to the drone and if it did, he would be allowed to use Wheeljack for spare parts for a relacement drone. Steeljaw was rather offended that he was being asked to use his infiltration skills against someone of his own faction, but he nonetheless entered the lab via crawl spaces in the walls and, within a few breems, had unlocked and opened the doors.

Ratchet was more than a bit worried that Wheeljack had not made a sound during all of this. The engineer couldn't possibly be that engrossed in his work that he didn't even notice the doors opening. For one, the lab was surprisingly dimly-lit, and the light from the hallway seemed glaringly bright in comparison.  
_  
'Primus help me if he's gone into shock again. I don't want to deal with him like that any more.'_

He hadn't. Wheeljack was working at one of the far work benches, and he did have his back to the door, but he wasn't a quivering pile of spare parts. "I thought I told you about entering a lab when I've locked it," he muttered.

"Yes, well, one begins to worry when you haven't left even to get energon," Perceptor replied testily.

"What makes you think I need to leave to get energon?" The engineer lifted a piece of armor on his side. The tell-tale glow of small energon cubes could be seen from within the exposed hold. Only after lowering the armor once more did Wheeljack finally look back at the others. "I'm not stupid. It's not the first time I've spent a joor in a lab. And I locked the doors _for a reason_."

"Like what, to make us want to throttle you?" Ironhide said.

Wheeljack shuttered his optics slowly. Ratchet knew that look all too well. It was one he was seeing on more and more mechs as the war progressed. "No," the engineer said in a surprisingly soft voice. "We...I just want...need to be alone."

_'Great.'_ Ratchet frowned slightly. Perhaps Wheeljack wasn't as sound as he was letting on.

"Too bad," Ironhide said. "You're not the only one using this space." He squinted his one fully-functioning optic, trying to peer into the darkness that surrounded Wheeljack's work space. "The slag you working on, anyway? Those drones still?"

"_Get. Out._"

The sudden change in Wheeljack's tone was almost frightening to Ratchet. Perceptor had seemingly been frozen in place, and even Ironhide flinched slightly. _'What the...?'_

Wheeljack's narrowed optics and the ominous ruby glow of his resonators reminded the medic far too much of an enraged cyberhawk. And though his voice was no more than a low hiss, the second, "_Get out_," had all three mechs slowly backing out of the lab until they were once more in the hallway, the lab doors shut before them. In the silence that ensued, they glanced at each other, confused, shocked, and somewhat terrified. -What in the flaming Pits was that all about?- Ratchet commed to them, not really expecting an answer.

-It was about what a glorious waste of my time this was,- Steeljaw replied. Ratchet glanced down at the diminutive drone, who glared back. -Count me in with Red Alert. I am never dealing with any situation involving that Wheeljack mech again.-


	16. Of Seekers and Drones

His steps slowed as he entered his quarters, the first outward sign of his stress he had allowed to slip through his stoic facade in nearly a joor. He knew there was no need for such pretenses any longer, but it was hard to unlearn habits from his tenure as Prime.

It seemed like a lifetime ago now.

Sighing softly, Optimus he dimmed the room's lights. After a few moments, he resigned himself to his chair, tiredly leaning his elbows on the desk before him, resting his chin on his hands. The change from his offices in Iacon to his infinitely smaller quarters on the Autobot base had happened so quickly and suddenly, it was merely a blur in his mind. Yet he was beginning to wonder if he had ever lived in Iacon at all, or if he simply imagined it, and the base had always been his home.

He rubbed at the bridge of his nose. No, he reminded himself. We've not always been forced to live hidden in fortresses. The war had not been going on for all that long.

But long enough.

And in that short time, so many questions had arisen. Too few had been answered.

There was a soft pinging on his comm frequency. Optimus acknowledged it silently.

-He actually responded,- Red Alert said, his voice tense-tenser than normal.

-Let him through,- Optimus replied.

-Are you sure about this?-

-Let him through,- the Prime repeated.

There was a brief moment of silence, then the holoprojector on his desk lit up. Megatron's none-too-happy face appeared before him, bright against the dimness of the room. "Well?" the mech growled. "You'd better have a good reason for putting us through the hassle of dealing with your pet security mech."

Out of everything he wanted to say, only one question made its way through Optimus's vocalizer. "Why?" The word came out too quickly, too loudly.

Megatron's face receded a bit, as if he was leaning back in a chair. "You'll have to be a bit more specific."

"Why the younglings? That's low, even for you."

The Decepticon leader was silent. Even his facial plates remained still.

Optimus could feel an anger welling up in his spark. "Why just the Seeker younglings? Why not the entire youth complex? If you wanted to wipe out the next generation of Iaconians, you did a pretty damn lousy job." He nearly snarled the last words in his disgust.

"I had nothing to do with the attack on the rookery." Megatron's tone was harsh, yet he spoke more softly than he had earlier.

It was a tone of voice Optimus rarely remembered coming from him, one that gave him hope that maybe, somewhere, deep in his spark, Megatron was still the just and wise Lord Protector he had once been.

"I have no interest in younglings," Megatron was continuing.

_'Understatement.'_

"But despite what you may be thinking, I find no joy in slaughtering future Cybertronians."

"Then why?"

"_I told you_," Megatron said, speaking slowly and deliberately, "_I_ had nothing to do with the attack on the rookery. You would have to ask your dear deceased Jhiasian ambassador what happened, _Prime_." The Lord Protector spat the title.

Optimus narrowed his optics at the flickering holo in response to the disrespect to his rank.

Megatron laughed then. "Don't give me that look! What, you think you can march yourself and your pathetic excuse for an army over here to try another 'righteous anger' stunt? Please."

"I may, if only for the entire generation of Seekers that is now dead."

"You and your foolish ideas. I will never understand why someone as stupid and weak as yourself was allowed to be Prime."

"I will never understand how you can mistake morality and compassion for stupidity and weakness."

Megatron idly waved his hand, as if brushing the Prime away. "That tired old argument? How boring."

Optimus was surprised to realize he had been clenching his fist; slowly, he relaxed it. Yes, they could all see what the result of that argument was. "So do I need to unleash my 'righteous anger' on whoever _was_ responsible for the massacre, or do you have that under control?"

The Decepticon did not miss that slight jab at his leadership abilities. His features suddenly became quite terrifying as he leaned in close to the holoprojector. "I have always had, and always will have, things under control."

The holoprojector abruptly shut off, leaving Optimus alone in the relative darkness of his quarters.

* * *

Ironhide didn't need to look to know who had just entered the room. _'About fragging time. If he keeps this up...'_

As if echoing his thoughts, one of his soldiers spoke up. "Well, look who finally decided to show his faceplates."

He was far more familiar with that tone of voice than he would have liked. On the surface, it was a light-hearted jab, but the fact that it came from Sideswipe meant that it was anything but. Ironhide was in no mood to be dealing with the gladiator's idea of 'fun' this cycle. "Sideswipe!" he barked.

Sideswipe was silent for a moment. Then, he could be heard messing with his field generator again. Whatever he had been planning must not have been worth disobeying his commanding officer for this time. Thank Primus.

Ironhide quickly glanced around the room. Sideswipe's intended target was also behaving himself today, not rising to Sideswipe's jibe in favor of walking to the opposite side of the room. Ironhide grunted to himself, mildly pleased that so far, things were looking promising regarding his subordinates' attitudes today. "Hurry up and get yourself a field generator, Wheeljack." _'We've only been holding __this thing up for you, smart-aft.'_

Satisfied that the engineer was doing so, Ironhide turn to the rest of his squad. "Inferno's requested to train with us today. He's been-" His processor suddenly buzzed softly, indicating someone was having a comm talk, and therefore ignoring him. Ironhide clamped his jaw plates together in irritation. _'For Primus' sake. Why do I get __stuck with all the difficult ones?' _He returned his gaze to Wheeljack. Sure enough, the mech was giving the much-smaller Cliffjumper a death glare, complete with angrily-glowing resonators.

Two quick steps was all it took for Ironhide to get to their side of the room. Before the engineer even realized he was there, he reached out and sharply cuffed Wheeljack on the back of his helm. Wheeljack's resonators flashed white once before going dark. "Pay attention!" Ironhide growled. He could see Cliffjumper's face twitch into the slightest of amused expressions. Ironhide frowned down at him. "Don't think you're off the hook either."

_'Why in all his infinite wisdom did Prowl think it's a good idea __to stick all of these mechs together?'_ With his squad now paying attention, or at least, paying as much attention as they ever would, Ironhide moved back to his original position in the room. "As I was saying, Inferno's been handed a bunch of the militia mechs and they need some work on fighting army-style. So his squad is training with us. Do _not_..." He paused to look directly at Sunstreaker.

The gold mech huffed. "Yeah, yeah." Then, in a softer voice, "_He_ started it."

"I don't care who started it, don't-" Ironhide's comm suddenly clicked to life. _'It never fragging ends around here.'_-What?-

-Optimus requests your presence,- Red Alert stated.

The weapons specialist sighed. -I'll be there in a bit.- He looked back at his soldiers. "I have to speak with Optimus. Tap-Out, you're in charge. And I swear to Primus, Sunstreaker, this is a _training __exercise_, not a-"

Sunstreaker growled. "I _know_! Slagging Pits, it wasn't my fault!"

"I don't care. It'd better not happen again. I'll be back shortly."

* * *

Optimus was not in his office, as Ironhide had assumed. After a brief, irritating discussion with Red Alert over the intercom, he discovered Optimus was actually in one of the loading bays. Ironhide finally got himself going to the correct location, grumbling the entire way about how ridiculous it was to have a security officer who didn't communicate clearly half the time.

He was not prepared for the sight of a small, unassuming cargo ship in the bay. Optimus was standing by it, along with a familiar-looking mech, obviously the ship's pilot. Ironhide quirked an optic ridge at the sight. "Sandstorm?"

The mech tilted his head slightly by way of acknowledgment. "Glad you could make it, 'Hide. I was just in the middle of telling the Prime here the reason for my unannounced visit."

"It'd better be good," Ironhide muttered as he joined them. "You can't just up and abandon your post in the Reaches."

"He was getting to that," Optimus said, trying to assuage his weapons specialist.

"I was getting...yeah, what he said." Sandstorm made his way to the rear of his ship and began fiddling with its hull. "Nothing much happens out there you know. Pretty boring."

"I stationed you there for a reason."

Sandstorm's blue optics flicked to one side, eying Ironhide. "Well, a few joors ago I got a comm from the 'Bot outpost on that Zel Samine moon, saying some 'Cons had tried to slip something out of the ELTA mine on a drone ship."

Ironhide felt his energon pump falter briefly. Thankfully, neither Sandstorm nor Optimus appeared to have picked up on it.

"I thought that was kinda strange," Sandstorm was continuing, "seeing as the 'Cons have ignored the Reaches. Until now. So when the drone ship came in range, I went after it." Something clicked and whirred within the ship, then the hull was folding back to expose the main cargo area. Sandstorm motioned the two Autobots closer.

Ironhide cautiously peered inside the hold. It was surprisingly large for a ship of this size, though whether that was the ship's original design or a later retooling, he couldn't tell. Within the space sat only a nondescript hovercrate, like any used by Cybertron's various mining outposts. It was, however, quite a large crate, big enough that all three mechs could sit inside, with room to spare. The crate took up most of the free space in the hold, leaving only enough room between it and the hold's walls for the mechs to sidestep along. "So you lifted this crate from the drone ship," Ironhide said, unimpressed.

Sandstorm was stepping into the hold. "Don't lose faith in me so quickly, Ironhide."

"I'm not the one who abandoned my post," the black mech muttered. Optimus glanced down at him, as if warning him to drop the attitude.

"The 'Cons dug this up and obviously didn't want you to know about it." The pilot released the clasps on the crate's lid.

That uneasy feeling was settling on Ironhide again.

Optimus was helping the smaller mech lift the lid. From where he stood, Ironhide could see into the crate, which was filled by what appeared to be nothing but a giant chunk of snow and ice.

The Prime was silent as a cold mist seeped out of the crate, spilling over its side and settling on the floor, around the mechs' feet. "Vector sigma... How...what...is he alive?"

The uncomfortable sensation sank into his core. Ironhide balled his hands into fists, resisting the growing urge to activate his cannons.

"Stasis lock, I guess," Sandstorm was saying. "Pretty badly damaged, but the cold must have gotten to him before his injuries."

"We need to get him to the medbay," Optimus said.

"No."

As one, Sandstorm and Optimus turned to Ironhide. "No?" the Autobot commander repeated.

"He's one of them." He could feel power thrumming in his arms, aching to deploy his weapons.

Optimus was giving him a look no unlike what a disappointed youngling-master would give his young charges. "Not all Seekers are Decepticons."

"I was there, Optimus," Ironhide said, his voice growing louder. "On Zel Samine. I set up that base, remember?"

"Of course. I gave those orders."

"Starscream was there, scouting, and this Seeker with him. I defended the base. I shot him down." It had been a viciously cold and snowy day, he remember, even compared to Zel Samine's normally cold and snowy climate. No one, least of all Seekers, should have been out in that weather. But these two had been, and they had been heading right for the Autobot base, obviously on the prowl for something. Ironhide rumbled in anger. "I shot him down, and Starscream escaped. The worst mistake I ever made, letting that fragger fly away. And now this one still lives? No. Let him die, let him stay in stasis lock for all I care. There's no way in the Pits I'll let you bring that thing back online."

Sandstorm was looking quite uncomfortable at this sudden turn of events. Optimus, on the other hand, was furious. "Stasis lock is a cruel existence."

At that, Ironhide activated his cannons, raising his arms to aim for the crate as the massive weapons locked into place. "Then I'll end it right this time. Move aside."

He wasn't sure why he had expected Optimus to simply step away. No, true to form, the commander instead moved himself directly into Ironhide's line of fire. "Put those away." It was a voice rarely heard from the Prime, something frightening and threatening that made far too clear his familial tie to Megatron. Then, he spoke again, in a much gentler tone that was much more himself. "You aren't one to kill someone who can't fight back."

The weapons specialist hesitated. _'Damn it. He's right.'_ Slowly, slowly, Ironhide lowered his arms and powered down his cannons._ 'Stupid Prime and his stupid convincing...-ness.'_

"We will take him down to the medbay." Optimus was speaking evenly, as if daring Ironhide to contradict him again. "When he is awake and able to speak, we may be able to get intel from him."

"And what's your plan for keeping him here?" Ironhide nonetheless countered. "He's not your average Seeker. We have nothing to contain him."

Optimus glanced at Sandstorm, as if judging whether or not to say something. Then he looked back to Ironhide. "I believe Wheeljack can help with that."

* * *

"I don't like this."

"You're the one who proposed this drone. It is time to test it."

Wheeljack looked down at said drone. "He's not ready."

Next to him, Perceptor huffed irritably. "You've been over every detail of this creature countless times. _I _have been over it. It is as ready as it's going to be this century."

_'Not_ every _detail...'_

"Oh, it's a 'he' now, huh?" Ironhide stepped closer to them as he picked up on their conversation. "Let me guess, you gave him a name, too."

"Yeah. Grimlock."

There was an uncomfortable silence from the older mech. "You named the drone..._Grimlock_."

Wheeljack shrugged a shoulder. "Sideswipe kept calling him a haroon. I figured he's my first haroon, so why not, I'll name him after the first haroon ever."

"You're just as disturbed as that red devil is," Ironhide muttered. Perceptor grimaced in agreement.

"It's as good of a name as any," Optimus said as he entered the lab. "You're sure the Seeker is stable?"

Ratchet, who had entered with the Prime, nodded. "It only took a joor to get most of the ice off of him, but he's stable enough for me to slip out for a few breems." He was rubbing his hands together, though whether from excitement or nervousness, Wheeljack couldn't tell. "So? Let's see if this piece of genius works before First Aid needs my help again."

Normally, Wheeljack relished in showing off his inventions to a crowd. But these were not fellow engineers and scientists (save for one, but he hesitated to call Perceptor a 'fellow scientist'). These were soldiers, present to take down his creation in the event of a malfunction. Yes, Wheeljack had taken care to retain as much of the drone's obedience programming as would not interfere with the combat protocols, and with Perceptor's help he had also added failsafes on top of everything. He rather hoped they would not need to resort to those, as 'failsafes' in this case meant 'remote kill trigger.' Having all of his hard work instantaneously wiped out was not something Wheeljack enjoyed dealing with. Especially not with as much turmoil as he had gone through with this particular project.

Aware of the Autobots around him, Wheeljack knelt next to the drone's open helm. The sheer size of the creature had proven too much for the work tables, which had been pushed against the walls in order to use the floor as work space instead. The drone was sprawled on the cold smooth metal, as if asleep. Wheeljack sighed softly, double-checked that the weapons systems were still disconnected, then welded the final processor link into place and snapped the smooth helm closed.

A shudder ran through the drone. Ruby optics flickered to life.

Then the beast growled, pushing himself to his feet. Though he was not much taller than Wheeljack at his shoulder, his four-legged frame was undeniably massive. Perceptor almost jumped back; Ironhide tensed, ready to defend against the drone.

The creature swung his toothy head back and forth, scanning the residents of the lab the way a cyberhawk might scan potential prey. Wheeljack should have felt excited. Instead, he felt a heavy sense of dread.

After a few moments, the drone stopped looking at the mechs and settled into a rest pose, body still, optics staring blankly at some distant point.

"Well," Ratchet said at least. "Something of yours didn't explode. _I'm_ impressed."

"But how do we know it'll attack Seekers and not us?" Ironhide had not yet relaxed.

"It's not attacking us now, is it?" Wheeljack replied. "Just trust me."

"That's a tall order," Ironhide shot back.

Though it still stared purposelessly, the drone seemed to be listening to them, head tilted slightly to catch their voices.

"So, do we station it in the medbay?" Ironhide asked.

Ratchet snorted. "Yes, put a Seeker-killing machine in a confined space with a Seeker. That will end well."

"It wouldn't be a bad idea," Perceptor put in. "Its programming should allow it to differentiate between threats and non-threats."

"'Should'," Ironhide commented.

"But as it has only just come online, it may need some time and experiences to fully adapt to its programming."

"Meaning?"

"He needs to see a non-threatening Seeker so that he knows what a one is," Wheeljack explained.

Ratchet frowned. "Okay, maybe I wasn't perfectly clear before: I _will not_ have a Seeker-killing drone in my medbay so long as there is a Seeker in it."

"So what do you propose we do with him?" Ironhide directed the question at Wheeljack.

Wheeljack's wing-blades flicked downward once in irritation. "I don't know, let him wander the base like a guard hound? He'll do his job should that Seeker cause trouble."

"No way is this thing wandering around unchecked." Ironhide shifted into a more battle-ready stance. The drone's optics seemed to focus on him briefly.

"Silverbolt may not appreciate that," Optimus agreed.

Wheeljack grimaced. While he was sure the drone would be able to recognize a comatose Seeker as a non-threat, he wasn't entirely sure Grimlock would be able to regard an awake, alert, Autobot-allied Seeker as the same. That had been a rather last-minute addition to the coding, and he hadn't been able to have Perceptor check his work.

"We can't leave the drone in here," Perceptor said. "We need the work area."

Optimus was rubbing the bridge of his nose in aggravation. "Just give him run of the west wing for now. That way he can still get to the medbay if needed, and Silverbolt can keep his wing away from the drone."

"And how do you propose we keep this thing in the west wing?" Ironhide was still watching the drone, who was now overtly staring back.

"We have blast doors," Ratchet stated.

"When they work, you mean." Ironhide gave Wheeljack a pointed look. The blast doors across the base had never quite been working properly ever since the solar grenade incident.

"What?" Wheeljack replied testily. "At least I took care of the Decepticon problem."

"That could have been done without toting explosives that could level the entire base in your fragging hold!" Ratchet said.

"You're damn lucky the blast doors are the only things still broken," Ironhide growled.

"You did _what_?" Wheeljack realized that this was the first time Perceptor had heard of this incident.

"For Primus'...would you just drop it already?" the engineer grumbled. He turned to Grimlock, who had been listening attentively for the entire exchange. "You hear that? This is the thanks they give you for saving their lives," Wheeljack muttered.

"Hrrr..." the drone growled, as if agreeing with him. Red optics turned to Ironhide, then around the room to the other Autobots, as if sizing them up once more. Wheeljack had programmed the creature to be a hunter, but it was rather unnerving to him exactly how intently Grimlock was eying the mechs.

Some part of him wasn't sure he wanted to be present to see his drone in action for the first time.

"Well, I'd love to stay for this scintillating discussion, but First Aid is calling," Ratchet said. After receiving a slight nod of acknowledgment from the Prime, he quietly turned, opening the doors with a touch of the activation panel, and left the lab.

Grimlock was moving before anyone could react. Silently, the drone lurched forward, reaching the doors in a single bound. He pulled up short, barely missing ramming his muzzle into the doors, which had closed not a moment too soon.

Ironhide had his cannons trained on the drone in an instant.

The next thing Wheeljack remembered, he was standing where Ironhide had been, while the weapons specialist himself stumbled back a few steps before falling over completely, as if someone had just knocked him aside. It took Wheeljack a few astroseconds to realize that _he_ had been the one to lunge at Ironhide. His wing-blades were raised stiffly, armor plates shifted into an aggressive display, vents cycling at full capacity despite the minimal effort he had just exerted.

_'Frag...frag...what was that?'_ The engineer stood dumbly where he was, shocked at himself. _'I don't even remember doing __that.'_

The other mechs were staring at him, likewise shocked. Ironhide slowly got himself onto his feet once more and turned to face Wheeljack, cannons still active. "Huh, Sideswipe was right. You really are another Primus-damned 4-Beta, aren't you?" From the look on Optimus's and Perceptor's faces, they had been ignorant of Wheeljack's true classification prior to this announcement.

The engineer was still trying to regain his composure. _'Thanks __for announcing that to the world, Ironhide. I've spent my whole life __fighting that programming, and all it takes is some idiot threatening __my_ drone_ to set me off? Primus help me. I'm really losing __it.' _"And you're just a trigger-happy glitch-slagger, aren't you?" he snapped back. "Give Grimlock a chance before you go blowing his head off."

Ironhide snarled. "Stop fragging calling it that!"

"It's my drone, what do you care what I decide to call it?" Wheeljack could feel his body warming up. Ironhide wanted a verbal sparring match? He would certainly oblige.

"We're Autobots. We don't have slagging spark-eaters in our ranks!"

"At least I don't go around trying to destroy the things that could help us," Wheeljack retorted.

"No, you just go around trying to destroy us."

"Would you _stop_ with the glitching solar grenades already?"

"Sure, when you get your processor in right and stop naming-"

"_Enough_." The Prime's firm interjection put just enough pause in their argument for the soft sound of opening doors to be heard.

The drone was standing in front of the open lab doors...in his bipedal mode. His hulking frame was easily as tall as a Seeker's, making the doorway seem somehow small. His outstretched finger hovered about the doors' activation panel.

Wheeljack's mind froze. _'He should not be able to transform yet. __He should not be able to figure out doors yet._

_ Primus, what have I done?'_

Perceptor turned his optics from Grimlock to Wheeljack. -What did you do to that thing?- he commed, echoing the engineer's thoughts.

-Nothing!-

"There, now he's out to wander the west wing," Optimus said, sounding quite exasperated indeed. "He can stay there until I speak with Silverbolt."

"I don't fragging like that thing walking around," Ironhide repeated.

"Then perhaps you should volunteer members of your squad to keep an optic on him," the Prime replied, a bit testily.

Ironhide made to protest again, but his expression softened a bit. "Not a bad idea, actually."

Wheeljack shifted uncomfortably. "Not Sunstreaker or Sideswipe."

Ironhide gave him a sly look. "It's supposed to fight Seekers, isn't it? I think it can handle a couple of overgrown 4-Beta pit fighters."

The engineer tensed. _'It's not Grimlock I'm worried about.'_

"This sounds highly unsafe for everyone involved," Perceptor said.

_'Damn scientist needs to stop reading my thoughts already.'_

"Better than not having them watch him." Ironhide purposefully strode out of the lab. He glanced at Grimlock, who was investigating the exterior of the door frame, then headed down the hall, away from the drone.

Wheeljack suddenly realized that both Optimus and Perceptor were looking intently at him. "What?"

"That was some...unexpected behavior from a new drone," Optimus said.

Wheeljack grumbled and walked to one of his work tables, searching for something to distract himself with. "I don't know what's going on."

"You must have done _something_," Perceptor insisted. "This would not have been possible the last time I examined the drone."

"I didn't do _anything_!" Wheeljack set to work organizing some tools, even though they were already organized. "Just closed up the coding and got some fluids from Ratchet. And some nanites."

"I don't recall Ratchet currently having undifferentiated nanites in his supplies," the scientist said.

"He doesn't."

"Dare I ask where you obtained the ones now in the drone?"

"I _would _have gotten them from Ratchet," Wheeljack said. "It just would have been a few joors before he had any ready. Which was fine until you brought a giant frozen Seeker in. You wanted the drone now, Ratchet said the nanites weren't ready, so I had to improvise."

"That does not answer my question."

Wheeljack tried to lose himself in reorganizing the tools, to no avail. "Used my own." He tapped a finger against his chestplates once.

Silence reigned.

"You are quite possibly the single most idiotic mech in the history of the Empire," Perceptor stated. "'Didn't do anything,' my aft."

"I did what I had to." Wheeljack looked back over his shoulder at the scientist. "_You _try pulling base nanites from your core without any assistance some time."

Perceptor's face twisted into an expression of disgust. "There is a reason we utilize nanites from non-sentient sources in drones."

"I _know_. Like I said, the drone was wanted now. I didn't have a choice."

Optimus was rubbing the bridge of his nose again, optics shuttered lightly. "I think we could have waited," he said in a low voice. "Ratchet could have kept the Seeker in stasis until the nanites were ready."

"You didn't make it sound like that would be an option," Wheeljack said. "Next time, you should be more specific."

"Primus knows you engineers do remarkably stupid things without proper guidelines in place," stated Perceptor. Wheeljack shot him a glare.

"So where does that leave the drone?" Optimus paused at the sound of said drone shuffling down the hallway, much to the startlement of whoever had been there. "Deactivate him?"

"No!" Wheeljack felt his wing-blades rise aggressively again.

"That would be the wisest course of action," Perceptor said. "Those nanites were not meant for a non-sentient drone. There is no telling how they may counter its programming, now or in the future."

Wheeljack clenched his fists. "You touch him and I'll tear your arms off."

Perceptor was clearly imagining the engineer's attack on Ironhide mere breems earlier, but he held his ground. "The nanites could destroy the safeguards we put into its battle programming. Then we would have a war machine running rampant on the base."

"That's what we made the failsafes for."

"The nanites could also destroy those."

"Or they might not. They might not do anything."_ 'Besides __accelerate Grimlock's learning, apparently.'_

"It's too great of a risk," Perceptor insisted.

"I'm not going to let Kree...my work be destroyed just like that."

"Then he will be your full responsibility." Both mechs looked at Optimus, who still wore a rather unhappy expression. "You're right, he has been a rather involved piece of work. It would be a shame for all the time and materials to be wasted." He gave Wheeljack a severe look. "You will think of him as your symbiote drone. You will be his caretaker, and should he cause any trouble, it will fall on your shoulders. Do not forget that I also have use of the failsafe. Do you understand?"

Wheeljack was silent. _'Frag, now I'm going to have a __Unicron-spawned haroon following me around?'_ He fervently hoped that did not mean more cyberhawks plaguing his recharge. "Yes. Sir."

Another yelp from a startled mech in the hallway echoed back to them. Optimus narrowed his optics. "Then I would suggest you start taking care of things right now."

* * *

He was vaguely aware of not being quite as cold as he had once been. And also of new aches all over his body, wounds he had not been able to feel previously thanks to the paralyzing cold.

Eventually, the aching from his wounds turned into true pain. He tried to ignore it, but as he continued to warm, the pain continued to grow. He whimpered like a tiny Seeklet.

To his surprise, the pain soon abated. He was able to relax. Until the pain returned. Once again, he whined. Again, his pain soon went away.

Someone must be nearby, he reasoned. Someone with the knowledge to stop pain. A medic, perhaps. He decided that he must be in a medbay. But how had he gotten there? Someone must have come looking for him and towed him back to the mining outpost, obviously. Probably one of his wingmates. Cautiously, he felt around with his spark, searching for the familiar spark signatures.

He began to worry when he couldn't name any of the signatures he felt.

_'Where am I?'_

He had to wait until he was fully online, a frustratingly slow process. Then he opened his optics, and just as quickly closed them again. Whoever had built this medbay had so kindly put blindingly bright lights right above the berths. Grumbling softly, he went to swing his arms up, hoping to move himself into a sitting position. Except that his arms wouldn't move. He jerked his right arm a few times, feeling something catch against his wrist. A restraint device of some sort. He wriggled his legs and found they were likewise immobilized.

"Would you stop jerking like that? You're going to ruin the tables."

He definitely did not recognize that voice. "Release me, then!" he commanded.

"I can't do that." He heard the speaker walk closer, but the view to either side of his head was blocked by the wing-panels coming from his collar, which had been forced up into his line of sight by his awkward on-his-back position.

"Do it or I will do it for you!" He tried to initiate his arm-mounted weaponry...to no avail.

"Please." The exasperation was heavy in the other's voice. "You really think we'd allow a potentially unfriendly Seeker the use of his weapons?"

He strained against whatever was holding him down, and could hear the table creaking as it resisted his efforts. "Why would I be unfriendly to you? I don't even know who you are!"

"Better safe than sorry. Ironhide said you and Starscream-"

_Starscream._

"Where is Starscream?" he hissed in a low, dangerous voice.

"Not here, that's for sure."

"Where is he? Is he alive?" He couldn't feel his wingmate's spark, and he could always feel it, even when Starscream was far away.

"Unfortunately."

Again he tugged at the restraints. He could feel something start to give way. "Let me go! I must see him!"

"Not a chance."

_'Starscream is here somewhere! He's alive! Does he even know I'm __alive? Can he still feel my spark? Why can't I feel his? Where am I? __What's going on?'_ "Take me to him!"

"Definitely not happening."

"_Starscream!_" He could hear his voice echoing through the walls.

"Primus, would you _shut up_?"

The next sound that came from his toothy maw was an infamous processor-piercing Seeker shriek.

From somewhere far off in the building, a different, but equally chilling cry answered his.


End file.
